Filibusters
by Beta Gyre
Summary: A collection of bonus scenes, back story, and AU scenarios from my fic "Bad Influence." Chapter ratings vary. Accepting new prompts!
1. Back Story - Coffee Shop Meeting

**Disclaimer:** _Tangled _belongs to Disney. No profit is being made.

**Author's Notes:** It sounds very narcissistic to say that you have fallen in love with your own AU, but that's exactly what has happened. I thought my interest in this modern-day Washington DC AU was only writerly and it would pass. But it hasn't, I don't think it will any time soon, and I no longer think it's just a writerly interest. I have had a draw to that city for years. There are also some highly autobiographical aspects of _Bad Influence _itself, from both Rapunzel and Flynn's storylines, and it probably is no secret to anyone that _Bad Influence_!Flynn is pretty damn close to the type of modern-day man I find most attractive. In short, I've just come to the conclusion that this interest ain't goin' nowhere. I am not going to write a sequel, but I do want to continue to play in this sandbox.

I struggled for some time about whether, and how, to put these stories on this website. Add these chapters to "Safe Place" and rename the fic (since they're the same AU), post them at the end of _Bad Influence_ itself, or post them as a separate fic? Ultimately, as you can see, I decided on the latter. I want _Bad Influence _to remain a distinct, complete story, with the chronological beginning being chapter 1 and the chronological ending being the last chapter. Many of _these _chapters, on the other hand, are added scenes that fit in the middle of the events of the novel, and I didn't want to put them after the epilogue in the main story. I have several more ideas for "Safe Place," but that one, I have decided, is going to remain strictly erotica of _Bad Influence_!Flynn and Rapunzel after they have married and become parents. Any ideas fitting into that category will go in that fic. Anything _else _for this AU will go here.

The first set of chapters for this story will be familiar to anyone who has followed my Tumblr, but most of them are edited from those versions. There are a few pieces that are AU to _Bad Influence _itself. They are marked as such.

**I am again accepting prompts for this setting. **They can be made in a PM, in a review, or through my Tumblr (link is in my profile). They can be for scenes occurring before, during, or after _Bad Influence,_ or they can be entirely AU-of-the-AU. I'll write almost anything, but there _are_ some things I don't want to do. The following ideas will _not_ be written: they get a divorce/separation, she has a miscarriage, their kid dies, he doesn't survive being attacked, or any scenario in which one of them has sexual contact with someone else (this "ban" does include explicit tales from lobbyist!Flynn's past). I would not feel good writing any of these things, even though all of them (except the tales from Flynn's past) would be AU-of-AU, so I'm not going to. However, before they get together, it's an angsty AU, so don't be afraid to suggest other angsty ideas if that interests you.

**Ratings:** The ratings of individual chapters range from K to M and are noted at the beginning of each chapter.

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**Filibusters  
**

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**Back Story: Coffee Shop Meeting**

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**Chapter Notes**: This was not a request from anyone, and it's not long. This takes place two years and approximately three months before _Bad Influence_ begins (which is March 21, the first day of spring). Rapunzel and human!Pascal have not met human!Max yet, and Rapunzel's grandfather's investigation into the lobbying firm's misdeeds has just begun. I have decided that this scene is back story canon. The encounter is so brief—and he doesn't even notice her—that it is conceivable that it could happen and she wouldn't remember his face more than two years later. **Rated K+**

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Rapunzel and Pascal stood in line patiently, watching silently as the queue of customers advanced. Holiday music sounded over the speaker system, and gifts—specialty coffees, mugs, and other treats—were stacked high on tables surrounding the counter. Many of the customers carried shopping bags with them. To complete the Christmas air of the place, soft flakes of snow dusted the sidewalks outside, giving off a calming, peaceful, happy winter ambience.

But to many people, the holidays are a time of pain. Rapunzel and Pascal were among those people. Pascal had not spent them with his biological family in many years, ever since his parents had kicked him out of the house when he was 18 for being gay and had not spoken to him since then. Rapunzel—well, as of nine months ago, when her mother took her own life, she had no family anymore, at least that she knew of.

Not that she was willing to admit that. Pascal knew it, but he also knew that she refused to talk about it or even acknowledge that it was true, so he didn't bring it up to her. They had only been friends for about half a year anyway, and both of them valued the friendship too highly, _needed _it too desperately, to introduce a topic that would only create conflict. They were all that each other had, after all.

So _this _Christmas, they were going to celebrate it their way. Family would have no part in it—biological family, at least. It wouldn't be romantic either, since Rapunzel was always very insistent to Pascal—whenever he tried to match her up with some straight guy he knew—that she was _not _interested in being part of a couple, ever, _period,_ _end _of _discussion… _and Pascal himself _was _interested but simply hadn't met the right guy yet. This Christmas, they would be sharing good tidings and wishes of peace on Earth with their best friend. That was something new for Rapunzel, at least. He was the first friend she had ever had.

Rapunzel's thoughts were jerked back to the present when Pascal, who was ahead of her in line, ordered some kind of special frou-frou concoction, a peppermint mocha. She giggled to herself. He noticed and turned around.

"You should try it," he remarked. "It's quite good. Tastes like a liquid peppermint patty."

"Seriously, Pascal?" she asked through a laugh.

"Seriously. I promise you'll like it."

She regarded him for a moment. "All right," she said. "You'd better be right about that." Turning to the barista, she ordered the same beverage, paid for it, and stepped aside to wait with Pascal for their mochas to be prepared.

This Starbucks was quite busy, especially as more and more people wanted to get off the increasingly icy sidewalks, and so Rapunzel and Pascal had to wait several minutes for the staff to catch up with all the customer orders. Pascal began to scan the coffee shop for a place where two people could sit. While he was preoccupied, Rapunzel's attention was suddenly grabbed by the voice of one person in line.

She had never heard the voice before, she was reasonably sure, but there was something about it that she liked anyway. It was a man's voice, and it carried a kind of supreme confidence and assurance that was very pleasant to her. She tried to find the person whose voice was somehow carrying above the din and quickly zeroed in on the source.

It was a dark-haired young man dressed in what Rapunzel guessed was a very expensive black suit and a blue tie. He was holding a cell phone to his ear and talking to someone on the other end, and he looked impatient with the pace of the line.

He suddenly laughed into the phone, and his features twisted into an expression of unmitigated contempt. "You're worried about that old man? I hope you're kidding me. King's a thorn in everyone's side, but he's wasting his time with this. There's nothing to find. _Is there?"_ The tone of his voice became harsh, almost threatening.

Rapunzel looked away before the man noticed her. Her moment of interest was gone. This was just another slimy, soulless DC insider, from the sounds of it.

"Hey, Earth to Rapunzel!" Pascal said.

She whirled around. Pascal was holding their peppermint mochas. "Oh, they're here," she said, accepting hers. "Sorry, I was just lost in thought, I guess."

He gave her a sympathetic look and put his now-free hand on her shoulder comfortingly. "It's okay," he said. "C'mon, though… we need to grab a seat before they're all gone."

He began to head toward a small table that he had picked out while he was scanning the room. Clutching her mocha, Rapunzel kept pace with him—but she couldn't help glancing back at the stranger in the line one last time, even though she couldn't explain why.


	2. Walking In

**Bonus Scene: Walking In**

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**Prompt from an anonymous reader:** "Pre-chapter.1, Flynn's POV as he finds himself in some yuppy club but becoming oddly drawn to the pretty loner by the bar."

**Scene Notes: **I'm sorry about the sheer meanness of much of this... but unfortunately a lot of it is pretty accurate. I've tried to emphasize the fact that Flynn has been extremely dissatisfied with his dating life up to this point, though he won't be honest with himself about what he's looking for. **Set during Chapter 1. Rated soft T for mature references.**

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Flynn Rider's dark eyes surveyed the club as the eyes of an epicurist might survey a food-laden table in a banquet hall.

_A table laid out with fast food, though, _he thought sourly as his gaze passed over the clientele with disappointment. A little voice in the back of his head told him that he shouldn't judge people by appearances, but on the other hand, that saying was referring to prejudging unattractive people as being boring, stupid, mean—unfit companions, in other words—just because of their looks. Unfortunately, Flynn thought in his cynical superiority, there was probably a great deal of wisdom in prejudging a roomful of "young urban professionals" preening pretentiously at each other like a bunch of peacocks in mating plumage. All fake, all artificial. He was judging based on their _behavior._

He didn't even really know why he was here again, except that it was a singles club, he was _far _more of a yuppie than a hipster or any other group with a cute label, and people did come there to meet others. _"Meet" others indeed, _he thought wryly as his gaze lingered on a tall girl with kind of nondescript brown-blonde hair (though it was hard to be sure in the ever-changing lighting) but a perfect hourglass figure, which was wrapped in a strapless ice blue sheath that was right on the verge of being indecently short and _was _at least a size too tight. _Probably Georgetown,_ he thought. This wasn't a formal club, and most of the girls here were wearing tight designer jeans or miniskirts. But he knew the DC metro area well, he knew the quirks and eccentricities of most of its major neighborhoods, and he knew that stylish young Georgetown residents tended to dress this way even for shopping.

The girl noticed that he was staring at her, and with a smirk, she looked back at him. That was enough encouragement. He began to stride over to where she lingered… and then the expression on her face changed.

"Sorry, but I'm booked tonight," she said pointedly as he approached. At that, he noticed the smug-looking young man, dressed in a sport jacket, who was returning with two drinks. "Same tomorrow. But if you're interested in my rates—"

Flynn understood, and he saw his error at once. She wasn't a rich Georgetown twenty-something. She was a paid companion. Her client was drawing nearer, and Flynn noticed that he had—of all things—an American flag pin on the lapel of his jacket. _Typical,_ he thought in disgust. _I wonder where he works? Congressional staffer or think tank brat? Either way, God bless America,_ he thought nastily.

"No," he said rudely and turned around at once, not even bothering to see whether he had offended the girl. He didn't particularly care if he had. _That _wasn't why he was here—and he wondered why a guy would hire an escort and then bring her to a singles club. Perhaps it was to spite an ex-girlfriend, or perhaps he just wanted to show her off. –In fact, once that idea had occurred to Flynn, he realized that was probably exactly what it was. Some people did not care if somebody appeared to be taken and even regarded it as making their object _more _desirable. Perhaps this guy knew it and figured that _hiring _a hot girl for a night or two was his best route to finding someone who would be his arm candy for no pay.

Whatever. It wasn't his problem. If he had wanted to go _that _route, he knew some phone numbers. But he was sick of that; he'd gotten sick of that months ago, and he was here to actually meet someone.

He walked in the opposite direction, toward the bar, thinking about his overall disgust with the singles scene in DC. The last time he had met someone who interested him enough that he wanted to take her on a real date, he'd been horribly disappointed with how shallow she was. It turned out that she was almost as good a pretender as he could be, but when the façade did fall away, it crumbled to dust. She had recognized his name and was after his money.

_I'm going to die a bachelor if I stay in this town, _Flynn thought in frustration as he scanned the bar, looking for he knew not what. He really _didn't _know what sort of person he was interested in, just that the people he had already tried to date had been completely wrong. He could pinpoint what was wrong with them, because it was often quite easy to do (such as with the gold-digger), but somehow he knew that a mere absence of those traits that had revolted him would not be sufficient. He wanted more, but he didn't know exactly what. He didn't like thinking in platitudes; his superior cynicism told him that "knowing it when he saw it" was ridiculous, but he couldn't help but do it anyway. If he was going to judge the bar's patrons based on their yuppyish behavior, it would only be logical to pick someone to talk to based on—

His sweeping gaze was suddenly drawn to one person in particular who was sitting at the bar, wincing at the drink before her. It was cheap beer, he noticed—something that ordinarily would be a warning sign to him, but at the moment, he felt was insignificant. She seemed to be by herself. She was pretty enough, with short brown hair, but she was such a small person that it was almost possible to completely pass her over, especially since she appeared to be lost in her own thoughts. That, however, he thought immediately, was definitely a good sign, though he couldn't—or perhaps _wouldn't—_explain to himself exactly _why _he found thoughtfulness so appealing.

The decision was made, though. He began to zero in on this young woman, a smile forming involuntarily on his face. She glanced up and noticed his approach. A slight frown crossed her face, and he felt conscious at once. Why had she frowned? He hoped he looked all right.

But no, as he drew nearer, the fleeting frown disappeared, and something like a smile formed on her face in its place.


	3. After the Fight

**Bonus Scene: After the Fight**

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**Prompt from xXsunlillyXx**: "In chapter 8, when Flynn and Rapunzel have that really big fight. What did Flynn get up to after he left? I could imagen him getting drunk and ALMOST doing something stupid (i believe the term 'escort' comes to mind)."

**Chapter Notes: **Flynn's thoughts got away from hi—no, who am I kidding. This scene got away from _me._ **Set at the end of Chapter 8. Rated soft M for one instance of strong language and rather intense thoughts.**

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Flynn stared angrily out at the mantelpiece, gripping the empty wine bottle so tightly that his hand hurt.

"Damn it," he said to the empty room. He glared at the bottle in his hand. There was no more wine in the house. This bottle, half full when he arrived back (_more like half empty, _he thought sourly), was the last bit of wine he had in the place. He wanted more. Anything to drown out what had just happened, and this was _clearly _not enough. Maybe Rapunzel was on to something with her ideas about drinking...

Oh, what difference did it make what Rapunzel thought? Why did he even concern himself with what she thought now? She'd made it clear that she regarded her abusive mother as the real victim. She would choose to smack him in the face and order him out rather than confront her fears of relationships.

_I don't care what she thinks,_ he told himself, feeling a kind of angry satisfaction at the idea. _She's got problems and I don't care what somebody like that thinks._ He smiled grimly to himself at the depersonalization of thinking of her as "somebody like that," defining her by what was wrong with her.

_That's right,_ he told himself. _I don't care. I don't need anyone, least of all her._ He ignored the nagging thought that, earlier in the evening, he had needed her so much that he became visibly upset, almost losing the ability to speak, when she rejected him. He ignored the fact that, for the past month, he had been consumed with dreams, plans, and, yes, fantasies concerning her, all of which indicated the _need_ that he felt.

"I don't need her," he muttered aloud defiantly, as if speaking it would make it true. "I don't and I'll damn well prove I don't. It's just been too long, that's all." Grasping at this idea like a lifeline, Flynn suddenly thought of something. He took his cell phone out of his pocket and stared at it.

After cutting his ties with the Crown Group, he'd taken his favorite escort service out of his phone's contact list, and after months of being away from the political scene, he had let the number fall out of the phone's call history too. But he knew the number. Oh yes, he knew that number. The question was, should he make the call? It wasn't _that _late at night... it was just possible that the owner of the service—the _madam,_ he corrected himself in thought—could send out a girl on such short notice. That might be _just _the thing he needed. Smiling darkly, he made the call.

"It's been a while since we've had your business," the lady remarked after he had identified himself.

"Yeah, well, I've been out of the loop," he said. "So... are any of the girls free tonight?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "They're booked," the madam said. "I'm sorry. There was a 'values' conference tonight with a number of politicians from out of town."

At this, a mean-spirited guffaw burst from Flynn's mouth. He resented the takeover of his political party by those people, and it was always enjoyable to hear such scandalous things about them. The woman chuckled too before continuing. "Anyway, it ended today, but none of the girls are free until tomorrow. Would you—"

She didn't get the chance to finish her question. As soon as she had said that no one was available tonight, he began to have second thoughts about this. With a full day to think things over, he was suddenly positive that he would not want to go through with this tomorrow night—and, in that case, he grudgingly had to admit that he shouldn't do it tonight either.

"No, forget it," he interrupted. "Just... never mind, just forget it." He mashed a finger against the screen to end the call and flung himself against the back of the couch. His head was spinning from the drink and from the realization of what he had tried to do.

He didn't want sex-for-hire. That wouldn't solve anything. What he wanted—well, _whom_ he wanted—was the young woman back in Silver Spring, not an anonymous substitute. He couldn't lie to himself. He _did _want and need her, and sleeping with some other woman—especially, perhaps, a woman who did it for money, and who at this very moment was with some hypocritical politician from out of town—wouldn't fill the void. He wanted one person... but it hurt to think of it. It hurt so much, because he had blown it with her.

In his drunken state, he was sure he had pinpointed exactly where he had made his mistake. _I shouldn't have picked up that photograph,_ he thought. That, he decided, was when things went wrong. _I should have just gone over there and taken her face in my hands and given her a good long kiss._ The thought seemed to make his blood flow faster. _She would have let me. She did at the campsite._ He smirked arrogantly, thinking of the camping trip and how she had seemed to melt at his touch.

_But she was pretty riled up tonight,_ another part of him seemed to object. However, that thought did not dissuade his alcohol-soaked mind from its fantasy. In fact, the thought of holding an angry Rapunzel while he ravished her mouth, dissolving away her anger, was... enticing. _Plunder her mouth until she gives in to her own lust, grope her, get her good and wet, then fuck her proper. She would've allowed me to._ He imagined pressing her against her mattress, kissing and touching her, arousing her, and whispering things in her ear until, in the heat, she forgot about the fight and begged him to take her. Yeah, _that's_ what he wanted to do.

He opened his eyes, barely aware that he had closed them to think about this, and realized just how heavy his breathing was, how warm he had become, and... well, how hard he'd gotten at the thought. For some reason, that particular realization brought him back to earth. As he became fully aware of exactly what he had been thinking about, shame washed over him—shame and loss.

_God I'm a scumbag,_ he thought, leaning forward and putting his head in his hands. He felt utterly ashamed of himself for thinking about manipulating her emotions like that, and nothing diminished arousal quite like shame.

Besides, it wouldn't even have worked. Not really. Rapunzel had already essentially admitted that she liked him _before _he picked up her mother's photograph. She just had fears that paralyzed her from acting on that desire. Doing this might have given them a physical thrill, but by morning... Flynn shuddered at the thought of waking up with Rapunzel, facing her, after such a thing. By morning, the anger would have come back in force, and the fears would still be present. She would never forgive him for manipulating her like that.

The way the fight had _actually _happened, they _might _still have a chance even after tonight, he thought... She _might _change her mind if being without him, or thinking she had lost him, would prompt her to face her fears and conquer them. He certainly regretted some things that _he_ had said, now that they were apart...

_And besides, she deserves better for her first time,_ he thought more soberly.

Wait, soberly?

Flynn frowned again at the empty bottle. This was a problem that had to be remedied as soon as possible. He set it aside and stomped over to his refrigerator to take out a bottle of beer. This was going to be a long night, and he needed assistance to get through it.


	4. Tested

**Bonus Scenes: Tested**

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**Prompted by my own thoughts.**

**Author's Note:** I decided to combine these two pieces into one chapter because one is quite short and both are closely related. Throughout chapter 9, I write extensively about what Rapunzel goes through and the gradual change in her thoughts toward him, but I never actually explain how he gets from the pushy, confrontational guy of chapter 8 to the considerate, patient one of chapter 10.

The first one is another piece in _Bad Influence_ Flynn's back story. It helped him realize how important she truly was to him. There are some political references in it. Finally, yes, the website in the first short is exactly what you think it is. I just don't want to actually write it.

The second one, after the dividing line, was inspired by a series of conversations with my friend Bain Sidhe about a modern trend of making characters put up with being treated like crap, and the writers calling it "romantic" that "their love persists" despite their love interest's ill-treatment or flakiness. This little castration operation is—as you might guess from that language—most often performed on male characters who are, I think, meant to be appealing. Unfortunately, it is _not _appealing to readers/viewers with a _mature_ notion of what love ought to be like, rather than one based on an emo song. It is pathetic and contemptible.

Anyway, these grumbles with my friend made me think about the low point of _Bad Influence, _after they have fought. Not because I think the story was guilty of that—Flynn said in the argument that he was not going to put up with being jerked around—but because of the aforementioned gap in the narrative about the change in his tone. This attempts to fill in that gap and also to clarify that he was not merely cowed into resignation, but had a plan—a plan based around solving the underlying problem, rather than simply scolding her for having it.

**Both of these scenes take place concurrent with chapter 9 of ****_Bad Influence_****. Rated hard T for language.**

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"_I just wanted to talk. Miss you. Didn't get the job and OK with that. Please text me back."_

The text message hadn't been entirely honest, Flynn reflected as he sat back in his desk chair. His gaze occasionally—no, frequently—darted to the phone that lay charging on his desk as he waited (increasingly pessimistically) for a response from Rapunzel. He _did _want to talk, he _did _miss her, and he did not get the job with the publishing industry lobbyists, but he really wasn't okay with that at all.

It wasn't that he wanted _that job._ He didn't. That was the lobbying firm that had first broken his political idealism, with the partners gladly doing the bidding of a struggling publishing company that still found thousands of dollars to waste trying to get legislation written to favor it and ultimately bail it out of its own sinking boat. Not only did it cement a cynical, predator/prey view in Flynn's mind of the writer-publisher relationship, but it also damaged his deep conviction that private companies truly wanted a free market. Maybe some did, but he had decided that quite a few of them were happy to get government involved to rig the system in their favor and foot the bill when they screwed up.

_That job_ had so quickly hardened him that within six months, he took a more lucrative and less personally painful job lobbying for stockbrokers and bankers. If not for _that job, _that first job, he wouldn't have gotten into legal trouble. There were plenty of bad associations with _that job,_ and he really didn't want _that job._

And yet, the company that had been the firm's primary client when Flynn worked there was now nonexistent, falling victim at last to the financial crash. The lobbying firm had other clients now, and Flynn had figured he could work there under those circumstances. The bad associations would fade with time, he supposed. He needed a job. He needed a purpose in life. Rejections of any kind were inherently painful to him. And whether he wanted to admit it or not, a little part of him still wished he could do something that "made a difference." The 19-year-old kid who had come to DC with idealistic dreams wasn't gone. In fact, he thought, since he had met Rapunzel, that part of him had actually become stronger.

_Ugh. I must have really, really pissed her off that night,_ he thought grimly. He glanced at his phone, though he knew no texts had arrived. As unbearably painful as it was to admit, he had to acknowledge the possibility that her final words, the shout that she never wanted him to see her again, might not have been just angry screams. They might have been true.

_Bzzzz!_ His phone suddenly vibrated on his desk. He jumped in his seat. Could it be...? Even as he unlocked the screen, though, he knew that it wasn't a text message; the phone made a dinging sound for that. He frowned as he identified the new alert icon that had appeared on the phone. It was a notification from his social media account. Well, he wasn't interested in dealing with that on this device; he preferred the computer. Swiveling in his chair, he faced his laptop and pulled up the page.

He wondered what this was. Rapunzel didn't have an account; she had told him she only had three friends—Max, Pascal, and himself, though his heart twisted as he realized she didn't regard him as a friend anymore—that they all lived in the same area, and that she could communicate with them over e-mail and phone. She had more acquaintances from school and work, but she did not consider them friends and couldn't see the point of listing them as such. Flynn had to admire her; he secretly loathed the term "friends list" himself, believing that it degraded the word. He wasn't sure why _he _still had an active account either; he had no family _or _friends—in the true sense—and the only people he had on that list were past colleagues and associates who had pretty much all stopped communication after the Crowngate mess.

The alert was for a new "friend" request. Flynn's heart seemed to jump; could it be from _her?_ He knew that it was a false hope, that Rapunzel would respond to his text message if she wanted to talk to him rather than creating an account she'd already deemed pointless and then "friending" him, but he couldn't get her out of his mind and that was where his hopes tended. So even though he cursed himself for letting himself hope, he was still disappointed when he opened the request—with an attached note—and saw that, indeed, it was not from Rapunzel Forrest. The name on it was Colleen Vandergard.

Instinctively Flynn's eyebrows narrowed in hostility. He knew that name, and he knew the simpering, suited up, artificially tanned blonde to whom it belonged, whose picture seemed to glare out at him from his screen. Memories from college briefly flooded his mind as his gaze dropped down to the message she had sent him.

"_Hi! Don't know how well you remember me, but we were both in the Federalist Society at Columbia. You've done very well for yourself! I recently moved to the DC area for a new job. I live in Alexandria now, if you ever wanted to have lunch together. It's great to find you here."_

Flynn sucked his breath between his teeth in anger. What a pack of lies. –Well, not all of it; they _had _both been in the Federalist Society club, and he supposed that she was telling the truth about being in DC, but her cheerful tone and eagerness to see him—

Against his will, Flynn's memories flashed back seven years to a time when he was finishing up his senior year of college.

_He was scrambling up his papers and notes from the end of the club meeting, since instead of packing up, he had been staring worshipfully at a goddess: the blonde law student he had a hopeless crush on, quite a few years older than he, the president of the organization, who closed the meeting._

_He had just gathered up his supplies and stood up at last when he heard voices outside the door and stopped in his tracks. Someone had just spoken his name._

_And then he heard _her_ speak, her voice tinged with self-absorbed arrogance and laughter. "Please, let's not discuss that little hillbilly," she said with a nasty laugh. "He's a nonentity. Just another nerdy little ingenue who's going to find himself completely outclassed once he leaves these 'hallowed halls' and has no professors to suck up to anymore."_

_"Watch it, Colleen, I think he's still in there," her male companion said._

_She laughed again. "I don't care if he is!"_

_Then, from inside the room, Flynn heard footsteps as the two of them left. He stood there, fury and heartbreak surging in him. He hadn't had any kind of relationship with her, had only spoken to her once, but his unrequited crush was really the reason he had joined this club. It was the reason he had not yet given an answer to his professorial advisor, who had a potential job in hand for him at a Washington lobbying firm. He had been considering going to law school himself to be around her—to become more equal to her._

_And yet, even though his schoolboy's heart was breaking, nineteen-year-old Flynn felt something else rise up in him: determination, resolve, and clarity of mind. What was he thinking, considering a legal career for the sake of a _crush? _How asinine! The idea had never crossed his mind until he saw her. He should go to his professor _tomorrow._ That DC job sounded pretty good, a great match for him... and it would put him in the path of others like him. He didn't need some snooty blonde bitch almost ten years older than he was!_

That was the last he had seen of her.

Now, after that memory flashed through his mind, Flynn breathed heavily at the message before him. She must have assumed he _didn't _hear her comments that day, or if he had, that he would now overlook them, seven years later.

_Maybe I should,_ he thought suddenly. _Perhaps she really has changed. She's in her mid-thirties now. We're both more mature. And maybe this is a sign._

"_You've done very well for yourself,"_ her message exclaimed. His gaze flickered back to that one sentence. What was that supposed to mean? If she could say that, it meant she had researched him—though actually, she wouldn't have needed to; that whole sordid mess had been in the news a while back. Why allude to that at all? Why say that? Flynn wasn't sure why, but his instincts were suddenly shouting warnings at him. He didn't trust her.

He glanced at her page profile. Sure enough, the part that she had made public showed that she had a new job with a law firm in Washington, DC. He couldn't help himself. He opened up a new browser tab and searched for the firm's web page. He found it quickly and navigated to the page listing the partners and associates. There, at the bottom of the listing, was Colleen Vandergard's picture and a short resumé. Columbia. Passed the bar exam in New York. Passed the bar exam in DC. Licensed to practice law. Former... _former state representative?_

_Former?_ So she had lost an election? Immediately Flynn became curious. He opened up yet another tab and did a new search. At once a list of results filled his page. Fragments from summaries and titles caught his eye.

"State representative denies allegations..."

"State representative admits to longtime affair with top staffer."

"Husband of embattled representative files for divorce..."

"State Rep. Colleen Vandergard Park today resigned..."

"...citing his wife's affair with her former chief of staff..."

Well, _that _explained it. That explained damn near everything. It didn't quite explain why she had decided to contact _him, _but he supposed, angrily, that she probably still saw him on some level as a stupid, naïve little boy. Well, he wasn't going to be a victim the way her poor sucker of an ex-husband had been... or, for that matter, the sucker of an employee, whom she apparently had not married, nor remained with. She hadn't changed a bit, except perhaps for the worse, and Flynn had seen enough. He closed out the tab in disgust, along with the tab for the DC law firm, and found himself staring at the friend request again.

"Fuck you," he muttered. He rarely used that word aloud, but the sheer rage building up in him had made it impossible not to. Did she really think he wouldn't look her up? Or did she think he just wouldn't care what he found? He supposed it didn't matter. Either option indicated that she held him in contempt.

He shook his head to clear it. A "sign," indeed. If this was anything, it was a test, a temptation. Well, he was smarter now, he had much higher standards (his thoughts quickly flitted back to a certain slight brunette woman), and he would have no trouble resisting.

For a brief second, he wondered if he should send a cutting reply to her message, but he decided at once that it wasn't worth it. _People _like that weren't worth it. After years of working for a firm that broke the law and then talking about all of it to federal prosecutors, he was thoroughly tired of getting down in the muck with dishonorable people. Without further thought, he declined the friend request, closed out his web browser, and turned off the laptop.

He needed a drink now, and the unopened bottle of Domaine Carneros in his wine rack beckoned to him. As he stood up, however, he couldn't help but glance back at his phone one more time, wishing in vain that the woman he was still desperately in love with would answer.

* * *

Tomorrow night was _her _graduation ceremony. He could not get that thought out of his mind. _She invited me,_ he thought. _She invited me even after... after..._ He couldn't finish the thought in words, but he knew the gist of what they would have been: _"after the campfire kiss."_ He had snarled at her during the fight that he was not going and she could put her horrible mother's picture in his seat instead, but he had long regretted those heated words, the words that prompted her to smack him in the face.

Part of him really wanted to try contacting her once more to ask if he could come after all. Maybe, _maybe, _when she failed to respond to his text message, she just hadn't received it... or had a bad day... or something. That she had also expressed dismay at what he had been doing, turned away, and run off—or stormed off in disgust?—merely an hour before he sent that text, during their chance encounter in the city, was something he did not want to think of.

He leaned against the back of his blue couch, staring into space as unpleasant thoughts entered his mind. As much as he did not want it to be so, he had to admit that there was a very real possibility that she _didn't _want to hear from him ever again.

But what if she did? What if she privately longed to hear from him but was too ashamed or afraid to say so? Was it not then _his_ responsibility to take the initiative?

No sooner had Flynn thought this than he burst out with a dark laugh. _She has rejected me how many times now?_ he asked himself sardonically. _Not answering the text, turning away from me on K Street, telling me to leave during the fight, telling me at the campsite that she only wanted to be friends..._

_But that wasn't true,_ another voice whispered to him. _She practically admitted it during the fight._

_Yeah, but she refuses to act on it. She's had two times since then, when we were both cool-headed, and she still refused. Even if I know that part of her does want me, I cannot keep chasing after a woman who continually rejects me._

That thought jolted Flynn into awareness of his situation once more. His gaze came back into focus, darting down to his lap, where his hands rested. He sighed. That was a painful thought he'd just had... but it was also one he couldn't ignore. He _couldn't _keep chasing after a woman who pawned him off with claims of "friendship only" before shouting at him to leave and then turning away from him altogether. That would be pathetic, deserving of nothing but disdain—most of all from himself. What kind of person kept pursuing someone who rejected him over and over, especially against her own deepest wishes? A fool, that's who, and a big one at that. The only way he could be a greater fool would be to pursue her if she really _didn't _have an attraction to him. He had never played the fool in his life and he wasn't going to start now.

_I want her,_ he thought. _I want her, I want to be with her, and I even think I love her... but if she won't own the courage of her own feelings, it wouldn't matter. Our relationship wouldn't last anyway. She has to be honest with herself and have the strength to act on it._

_I've tried and failed. I have to say no to attempting further contact. I have to leave it up to her now. She has to be the one to try to reforge the connection._

He brought his hands up and rubbed his forehead. That was also a painful thought. What if she did that someday, but only talked about "friendship" once again?

_If—_he winced inwardly at the uncertainty—_if she ever contacts me again, she probably will say something like that at first. It would be weird if she said more, and I guess... it would be too much to immediately demand more under such circumstances. But that couldn't continue indefinitely. I'm not going to go back to that form of slow torture either._

_And if she reaches out to me, _he thought, _she'll have to know and expect that anyway. She knows how I feel about her, and she was finally made to admit what she feels. She surely wouldn't contact me unless she was prepared to deal with that eventually. Maybe even wanted to deal with it..._

He leaned back again, gazing up at the ceiling with a sigh. That last little thought seemed a bit _too _hopeful. It seemed so breathtakingly unlikely that she would decide on her own to face her feelings, especially now that she didn't even see him... but she hadn't faced them when she _did _see him either, he had to remember. Perhaps _missing _him would be the catalyst she needed.


	5. Back Story - O Brave New World

**Back Story: O Brave New World**

* * *

**Prompted by my own thoughts.**

**Chapter Notes:** There are some things about Rapunzel's back story that are not made clear in the novel—primarily because I had not worked out the details myself when I wrote it. This fills in the gaps about 1) how she managed to live in Alaska for a year away from her mother, 2) how she got admitted to college a year early, and 3) how the Kings never knew anything about it.

Nothing in _Bad Influence _is retconned by this. Some of the details may be unfamiliar, but they're not in conflict; they are just things I never gave much information about before. Here, Flynn is living in the city of Washington rather than Fairfax, but that is mentioned (briefly) in the fic in chapter 5 as what he did for his first year there until he could afford something nicer.

The timing of the two sections is different. Rapunzel's section takes place about five years before the opening of the novel. Flynn's takes place seven years before it.

The title is not meant to reference Aldous Huxley's dystopia. It refers to the original Shakespeare quote:

_O, wonder!_  
_How many goodly creatures are there here!_  
_How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world,_  
_That has such people in't!_

Not ironic for Rapunzel, ironic for Flynn. **Rated K+.**

* * *

Dr. Ella Bastion, a tall, strongly featured woman with dark blonde hair in a ponytail, knocked at the door of the hostel bedroom where her young client was currently staying.

"Come in," a slightly hesitant voice called through the door.

Dr. Bastion turned the doorknob and entered the tiny, shabby room. She sat down on the simple twin bed and gazed across the garret room to the little desk that was crammed into the corner nearest the window. A girl sat there, a green bandanna covering the top of her head, as she worked on a sketch of something—at least, until her social worker had entered the room to give her an update on her situation.

Dr. Bastion recalled Rapunzel Forrest's first appearance in her office. She had been bald, dressed in dirty, sweat-stained clothes, and carrying a knapsack. She had hiked a couple thousand feet down a mountain and gone straight to social services once she made it to Fairbanks, and since she had not yet bought any new clothes when she was introduced to Dr. Bastion, she looked as if she had just come out of the mountains. It was a sad sight.

Rapunzel had also been taken aback by the solid taupe paint of the walls and had asked innocently why no one had painted anything else on them. It was at that point that Dr. Bastion learned that the girl's mother had encouraged her to paint pictures directly on the walls of her home, and that although she knew quite well that artistic painting was also done on canvas and paper, she had not been inside any other private residences in her entire life. She had only been to the graveyard, the tiny grocery in her mountain hamlet, and the mountain itself. She had simply assumed that _everyone _painted pictures on their walls and hung framed pictures wherever they would not hide anything important, perhaps even planning the wall art around a framed painting.

That was a shock to Dr. Bastion, and the sheer lack of social interaction for a perfectly healthy teenager would itself be considered child abuse… but then she had gone out to the house herself and found out some things that were even stranger. The woman had shaved her daughter bald and forced her to wear blonde wigs instead of her natural brown hair. Rapunzel had not told her social worker that; she had claimed that she herself had shaved her hair off to spite her mother. Dr. Bastion had decided to not press the point. Undoubtedly Rapunzel was ashamed of being victimized in such a way and the lie was a coping mechanism for her. She was not delusional, in any case, so for the moment, Dr. Bastion had decided to let the issue drop.

There were more important matters to discuss, anyway.

She cleared her throat. The girl's head snapped up, wide green eyes instantly fixing upon Dr. Bastion. At least there wasn't fear in those eyes.

"Rapunzel, your exam results are back, and I have been in consultation with your mother about your future plans."

Rapunzel's eyes somehow managed to widen even further. "What does she have to say?" she said in a shaky voice.

"First your exams, dear. Whatever else may be said about her, it cannot be said that your mother neglected your education. You have tested at the level of an incoming high school senior, a year ahead of what your age would indicate."

Rapunzel smiled.

Dr. Bastion smiled back and continued. "Rapunzel, I may as well tell you that your case is unusual. You are sixteen years old… at this age, and given the fact that you are in good mental health overall, I think it is not in your best interest to be placed with adults whom you do not know. You were not subjected to sexual abuse or hard physical abuse, and you are showing resiliency to the emotional abuse that she inflicted. At your age, most teenagers are considering their future plans, and I think this is the course that is best for you. The academy has agreed to admit you as a student, and after some—_discussion—_with your mother, she has agreed to pay your tuition. If you want to enroll, you will live in the dormitories, away from your mother, while retaining the Towers address as your official home residence."

"I do want to enroll," Rapunzel said, eyes shining. "I don't understand, though—how can she afford the tuition? And how did you convince her to let me go to school?"

Dr. Bastion exhaled sharply. The conference had not been a pleasant one. She had had to intimidate Gothel Forrest into allowing the girl to enroll at the boarding school, threatening to have her parental rights terminated and to give the girl over to her legal next of kin if she did not allow it. –Who, shockingly, records indicated were… but no, Dr. Bastion told herself in thought. _They _had not been told of any of this. Based on information on the senator's website, they might not even know they had a granddaughter. Rapunzel certainly had no idea who her living grandparents were, and Dr. Bastion had not enlightened her with that information. Gothel did have the right to keep her daughter away from her grandparents if she wanted, and the only way to change that was to take away her rights as a parent. That would require a court case and a complicated, ugly legal battle that would likely upset Rapunzel. And then there would be the matter of having the poor girl uprooted, brought to an unfamiliar place, with VIPs as her guardians, subject to media spotlight. No, it was an awful proposition to consider, and Dr. Bastion had wanted to avoid it at all costs.

Dr. Bastion tried to keep the harshness out of her voice. The poor girl's grandparents were bound to be loaded, but she did not know who they even were, and either they did not know of her existence or did not care to know her or her mother anymore. The family affairs of adults were not her business, though, and however it had come to be, the grandparents' income—and wealth—were simply not accessible to Rapunzel. "As you already know, your mother receives a disability check for bipolar disorder. She also receives a check from the state of Alaska, the oil payment that residents receive. She is eligible for other forms of government assistance as well. The school has a peer-group tutoring program in which high-achieving upperclassmen tutor freshmen and offers partial tuition waivers to students who qualify for that, which you do. She can afford the discounted tuition rate. And I convinced her to let you attend school by indicating that if she did not, then someone else would be making decisions for you as long as you remain a legal minor. She was persuaded."

Rapunzel managed a chuckle.

Dr. Bastion smiled again. "Because of your exam placement results, the academy has also allowed you to enroll as a senior, if you want—though you may also enroll as a junior and be in a class with your age-mates. It is your choice."

"What do you think I should do?" Her tone was uncertain.

Dr. Bastion cracked her knuckles. "I shouldn't advise you on this," she said, "because it is your choice. I will present the advantages and disadvantages of each. I frankly doubt that the matter of age is an issue for you. There is only a year between you and your classmates if you enroll at your exam placement level, and I think that the matter of adjusting to a new environment is far more significant than age in your case. If you enroll as a junior, you may not be intellectually challenged as much as you would prefer, since you have already shown proficiency at that level. You will, however, have two years to prepare for the idea of going to college—if that is your intention—"

"It is," Rapunzel said quickly. "I definitely want to go to college."

"Excellent," Dr. Bastion approved. "As a senior, you will have only one year, and you will need to start your college admissions prep pretty quickly. The school will have officials who can assist you with that. However, you will probably not be reviewing material in class that you already know."

Rapunzel looked away from her social worker, studying her desk. "If I went for only one year, she wouldn't have to pay as much," she mused.

"That is not something you need to be concerned about," Dr. Bastion said at once. "You should decide based on what you think is best for yourself, without reference to her finances. She can afford two years' tuition as well as one."

Rapunzel thought for a moment. "I think I want to enroll as a senior," she said. "I really want to go to college—"

"If you do, you should know that your mother will still be your legal guardian until you turn eighteen," Dr. Bastion said. "Even if you go to college out-of-state."

"I know," Rapunzel said. "I still want to go."

Dr. Bastion smiled. "I'm glad to hear that. Think it over a little more, though, before you commit. I'll be by again in two days to take you to the school so you can register." She glanced around the tiny room, which was now packed with Rapunzel's prized possessions that she had been unable to grab up when she fled her house. "You'll need to get school uniforms… and, I'm afraid to say, the school probably will not let you wear that bandanna in class. You'll probably want"—she hesitated, wincing inwardly and hoping it didn't show—"a wig of some sort. We can go shopping for these things once you are enrolled."

Rapunzel was not looking at the woman. She had glanced away sharply at the word "wig," and Dr. Bastion almost regretted mentioning it. Still, she _would _need _something._ Her hair would grow back—there was already a layer of brown fuzz—but it would take a while, and even if the girl didn't mind being so close-cropped around her peers, she would surely mind spending Alaskan winter this way.

"It can be short," the social worker said hurriedly. "You prefer short hair, you said."

Rapunzel nodded stiffly. "Yes," she said. "I do. I'll want one that looks like my hair will when it grows out."

"Of course," Dr. Bastion said. She glanced at the sketch on the little desk. "I'll let you alone now. Think about the school issue and make sure you want to be a senior. I'll see you again in two days."

* * *

As he stepped off the Metro at Foggy Bottom, Flynn Rider tried to keep cool and keep the brilliant, happy smile off his face, but it was hard. There was just so much to be happy—no, thrilled—about.

There were the shopping bags of _nice, expensive _things that he had just purchased with his advance stipend. The lobbying firm he was going to start work for on Monday had wanted him to look professional at once, and they had written him a check—a signing bonus, as it were—that he was supposed to spend on high-quality career suits, shoes, and a briefcase. These clothes were nicer than anything he had ever owned. His parents had left him nothing after their debts were paid off. The parade of foster families had bought necessities for him and little else. His college days had been marked by scrimping and pinching, wearing casual clothing most of the time, and buying a couple of clearance-rack suits from mid-range department stores when he _had _to have something presentable for interviews or dinners. The suits he had just bought were a different matter altogether. Everything about the purchases made him feel good: the fact that he had a job for which he would need such good clothes, the signing bonus that had paid for them, and of course, the feeling of anticipation about wearing them. Flynn had known for quite some time that he looked good in business wear, and he was looking forward to putting them on. He would cut quite a dashing figure, he had no doubt.

He swiped his card through the Metro machine and exited the system up the escalator, emerging into the muggy Washington, DC air. It would be a bit of a walk to his apartment, but he could admire the view as he did. As DC neighborhoods went, this was a nice one. Some of the buildings were older, with Georgian-style trim around the windows, whereas others were all steel, brick, and glass. Flynn liked both. His studio apartment was in one of the older buildings, and as he walked briskly down the street—eager to get away from the heat and humidity—he soon found himself approaching the building.

The apartment—now that was something else to be happy about. He let himself into the building and carried his suit bag into the elevator, still trying not to smile _too _obviously even though the elevator was otherwise empty. The elevator ascended several floors before stopping at his. He got out and walked down the short hallway until he reached his door. He unlocked the door and went inside.

It was pretty shabby, to tell the truth. A tiny studio with a closet of a kitchen, another closet of a bathroom, and a battered old wardrobe instead of an _actual_ closet, the apartment was all that he could afford—for the moment. With the amount of money that he would be bringing in, though, he would relatively soon be able to consider other places. He had already started looking at Fairfax County.

Still, this place was _his._ The bed, sofa, and table for one might be crammed into a tiny space that left barely enough room to walk, but it was _all his._ He had spent four years bunking with five other college students in some rathole in New York City—pretentious people who claimed to abhor mainstream trends but followed their own preferred trends like a brainless flock of sheep, whose notion of art seemed limited to creating mockeries of other people's work, and who regarded everything about _him_ with ill-disguised contempt, from his North Carolina heritage to his fiscal conservatism to his open ambitions. Those wretched days were _finally_ over.

He stepped carefully around the couch and opened the doors to the creaky wardrobe. Carefully he removed the bag from the suit hangers that were punched through it and lifted the plastic off his new suits. Fortunately, he'd had the foresight to buy some protective clothes bags, so the wool wouldn't be eaten up by moths. He unzipped them and packed his new suits into them, carefully making sure nothing would be creased—or maybe it was that he couldn't resist stroking the finely spun wool again, now that there was no one to see him do it.

He opened the other shopping bag and removed the three pairs of stylish leather flats and matching briefcase. Smiling, he set these items on the floor of the wardrobe and closed it carefully. He edged over to the sofa, sat down, and _finally _burst into the smile that he had been holding back for so long.

He had arrived.

* * *

**End Notes:** I have a backlog of completed prompt fills for this AU, and the next batch will go up very soon. They have been previously published on my blog, but those entries are now private because these pieces—especially older ones—may be different from the final edits that will be posted here. As I said at the beginning of chapter 1, **I'm accepting prompts for this AU again.** I may not be able to get to them until after I have the existing material edited to my liking and posted here, but they'll go up eventually.


	6. First Time & Kind of a Downer

**Bonus Scenes: First Time & Kind of a Downer  
**

* * *

**Prompt by an anonymous reader**: "hey beta! are you still accepting drabble prompts? If you are, here's one: flynnxrapunzel during their first time :)"

**Prompt by another anonymous reader**: "First of all, love Bad Influence and all the drabbles you've posted on here! Could you possibly write more about their first time? I understand you had to keep it "T" rated for the story but I'd like to hear more about how it went :p Thank you for all of your stories and for keeping Bad Influence alive; it's really carried me through a rough time in my life and it will always have a special place in my heart. :)"

**Chapter Notes:** As you can see, the first time scene was requested by two people. Somehow that didn't surprise me when it happened. I didn't make a lot of edits to that part. After the line break in the story is a piece that occurs right after their first time, and it is his perspective on what just happened. It's kind of angsty, but a lot of it was implied in the story, and some of it was actually stated outright. (For the record, that's why I said I wasn't going to write anything explicit from his past. As I imagine his character, he doesn't reminisce fondly on that.) I have added some material to it that wasn't on my blog, and this new material refers back to scene 4, "Tested." I've tried to end it on a nice note. **Occurs near the end of chapter 13. Rated hard M.**

* * *

Taking a deep breath, she emerged into the bedroom.

He was sitting on the bed, legs stretched out, and as he saw what she was wearing, his eyes grew wide. "Rapunzel," he gasped, "you look gorgeous. What's the occasion?" he asked with a grin.

She smiled enigmatically at him and climbed on the mattress. He stared for a moment, but then a wicked, knowing smile crossed his face. Before she could react, he pounced on her, pinning her down, and instantly began to trail kisses down her body past her neck and shoulders.

"Flynn!" she gasped, overcome with surprise at his actions. She felt a fluttery sensation in her abdomen.

He looked up at her, smiling benevolently. "Yes?" he said innocently. "Do you want me to stop? I can." Immediately, before she could stop him, drew away and rolled off her so that they were not even touching.

She groaned. "You are _such _a tease," she complained. "I _liked_ it. I want you to continue... and go farther," she ended in an embarrassed whisper.

His eyes darkened as he stared into hers, but he nodded quickly, rolled back over, and continued where he had left off. She closed her eyes in bliss and let him take over. With all visual input shut out, she felt flooded with sensation—the overwhelming sensation of his touches, their almost involuntary moans and cries, and the blood rushing in her own head.

Flynn edged down the top part of the negligee and cupped her left breast in his hand, taking the now hard nipple between his lips gently. She let out a hiss of surprise and her eyes popped wide open, meeting his, which sparkled with mischief and desire. A corner of her mouth turned upward in a smirk, which he took as a signal to keep going. He moved on to her right breast. When he finally drew away, he began to trail kisses back up her chest, finally settling in the little corner where her neck and shoulders met. His hands slid gently down her sides, finding the bottom hem of the lavender negligee, and slipped ever so slightly underneath the garment. He drew away from the kiss and met her eyes, wordlessly asking permission to remove it. She took a deep breath. This was what she had wanted—this was why she'd bought this lingerie—so she met his gaze and, mustering up her courage, nodded at him to continue. His brown eyes seemed to sparkle as he elegantly, yet confidently, slipped the garment over her head and set it aside.

He began to trail kisses down her now exposed body, leaving her shivering in pleasure in his wake. She had never had anyone touch her like this before, but she knew that he could be trusted.

Rapunzel wanted to feel more of him. More—but those clothes of his were in the way. That needed to change. She took hold of his shirt and began unbuttoning it with trembling, nervous fingers. Flynn realized what she was trying to do and began to help her. Together they got the top unbuttoned. He took a brief pause to pull it off and drop it on the pile with her own nightgown. She gazed at his chest now, as she had seen it in the pool just a little while ago—his toned muscles and an area of chest hair that she thought was just perfect in size and extent. He didn't need to wear a nightshirt, she thought. It hid this fine body of his, this body that she suddenly wanted to give the same adoring treatment that he was giving to hers. She smiled and caressed his pecs, placing light kisses here and there.

He let out a moan and quickly flipped her over so that she was on her back again. Her reciprocating actions seemed to have emboldened him, for he began to place increasingly intense kisses farther down her body, getting on his knees and kneeling before her when he needed more room. When he reached her hips, she was too much in ecstasy to be able to return the touches, but it didn't seem to bother him. He ran a single finger down her panty line, provoking a shiver of delight from her. His lips followed. At last he reached her inner thigh, placing soft kisses along her tender skin and murmuring about how beautiful she was to him.

At first she wanted him to stay right there, to caress her and please her, but as he progressed from one leg to the other—his fingers lightly, hesitantly passing over her satin panties—she realized that this, wonderful as it was, wasn't quite enough. She became aware that she was very wet between her legs—and felt, well, "hollow" was the best way she could describe it. She wanted him to fix that.

But no—he was drawing away and moving _back _up her body with his kisses and tender touches! She wanted to bite her lip in disappointment, but she quickly realized that there was no need for that. He reached her breasts again, ministering to her still-hard nipples in turn, and finally spread out so that his body covered hers. She liked that. Involuntarily she opened her legs, wishing that he were between them rather than straddling her as he was.

About half an hour after they had begun, she lay flat on her back in nothing but her new underwear, breathing heavily. He lay at an angle with his head nestled in the crook of her shoulder, placing soft kisses against her neck that were quite chaste compared to what he had just done.

"Enjoy it?" he whispered softly against her neck.

"Mmhmm," she said. She gazed at him pleadingly. "But I want more. I want everything you can give. Please." Her tone was almost desperate, but she needed this. It wasn't _want_ anymore; it was _need_.

He swallowed. "You're sure?"

"Absolutely."

He breathed in and out deeply, then put his hands around her waist and rolled on top. "First time?" he said huskily, gazing down at her.

"Mmhmm."

He leaned over and kissed the shell of her ear. "All right. My dear... I'm going to give you a first time to remember. The first," he whispered, "of many, but even years from now, you'll _still _think of this every time I take you to bed." He winked and smirked at her.

Her heart pounded. "What do you mean by that?" she said.

"What does it sound like?" he said evenly. "Now that I've got you where I want you, I don't plan to let you get away from me again."

Rapunzel gazed up at him with a blushing face as the meaning of the words hit home. Her greatest fear, abandonment, was vanishing before her eyes. He was teasing her with the _way _that he said it, but she could somehow tell that underneath that cocky teasing possessiveness, he was making a very serious statement. She reached out and enclosed his face with her hands, pulling him closer. He realized what she was doing and closed the distance. She parted her lips, ready for him, before he could meet them with his own. Her eyes closed in bliss as he plundered her mouth deeply with his tongue.

Flynn managed to unbuckle his belt and remove his trousers and underwear by himself, barely breaking the kiss—though they strained to stay in contact while he was taking off the rest of his clothes. She let her hands slip from his back to her panties, fumbling with them, drawing her knees up, and finally accepting his help in getting them off. They fell back into the kiss again, more intensely than before, if that were possible. It felt wonderful, too, to have his heated bare skin against hers with no barriers now.

His hands traveled down her body again and rested between her thighs, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from her as he gently spread them apart and positioned himself at her slippery entrance. He pulled away from her mouth and regarded her with intense need, passion, and—somewhat oddly, she thought—deep seriousness.

"This is probably going to hurt," he said in a low voice. He sounded apologetic.

Rapunzel took a deep breath. "I know. It's okay," she said shakily. That was the one part of this that she _wasn't _looking forward to, but she knew it was probably unavoidable.

He met her gaze and nodded quickly. He put his hands on her hips to brace himself and entered her slowly.

"Oh!" she cried out in pain, wincing as he filled her. Tears formed in her eyes, and she took another deep breath and tried to blink them away.

He looked down at her very guiltily. "I'm sorry," he said softly, leaving over and giving her another kiss as he contined to slide into her. She gripped his face firmly, keeping him in place with the kiss, until finally he was as far in as he could go. She wrapped her legs around his waist so that he couldn't move. There was still pain, and she couldn't help but think of a heavy rubber band stretched as far as it could go. But that feeling was dissipating by the second, and the pleasure and desire that she had felt before were coming back. Still, though, she kept him locked in place.

Finally he broke the kiss. This was driving him wild. "Sweetheart, you need to let me move," he said pleadingly. "It'll help, I promise."

She regarded him with a slightly nervous look, but uncoiled her legs. She removed her hands from his face and placed them on his sides, opening her legs a little wider and trying to let the tension seep out of her. She found, to her delight, that as she relaxed, the remaining pain quickly began to fade away, and the sensation of being joined with him took over, with that burning _need _to be filled by him now satisfied. She smiled at him and nodded.

He smiled back and began to slide out. She felt a raw thrill course up her body at this sensation, which only magnified when he filled her once again. His grip on her hips tightened involuntarily, but she liked the feeling. "Again," she said urgently.

This time his smile was more like that familiar smirk that she knew so well. He began to pull out and thrust harder and faster, his hands moving over her body lightly but sensuously. Their breathing increased and coherent words gave way to cries, moans, and grunts of pleasure. The pain was only a twinge by now for her. Their bodies grew heated, and with every movement he made, she seemed to be rising toward a blissful peak.

At last he withdrew from her almost all the way. She let out a cry of protest; this was torment for him to do this while she was _so close._ She needed him back in her _right now._ She rose off the pillow and clutched at his toned back muscles for support. _"Please,"_ she moaned, burying her head in his shoulder.

There was a brief pause, and then he was filling her again, giving them both what they needed. She gasped out in bliss, and despite the cockiness that he was feeling at being able to create these sensations in her, he let out a gasp of relief as well.

He brought one hand down her side, making her shudder next to him, and slipped it between her legs where they were joined. To his immense satisfaction, her inner thighs were slippery from his increasingly intense motions and her growing pleasure. He brought his hand to her sensitive area and touched her lightly. She took in a sharp, short breath of surprise. His eyes met hers, a satisfied, pleased sparkle showing in them. Then he pressed down.

It was as if a dam had burst. Waves of pent-up pleasure flooded her, rushing from that center all the way over her body. A scream that sounded like his name escaped her mouth, and though she could _see _that he broke into a very definite smirk at this sound, it didn't really register with her. She felt weak, not entirely in control of her own body, and her grip on his back slack ened as the intense feeling rippled over her. With his other hand, he gripped her around the waist to keep her close, made one last thrust in her, and then the smirk faded from his handsome face as he reached his own peak. She still throbbed with bliss and could hardly hear anything over the sound of her own blood rushing behind her ears, but she _felt _the hot rush as he came in her.

He collapsed on top of her as he withdrew, breathing heavily, stroking her sides gently yet possessively. "That was wonderful," he gasped.

She was feeling in control of herself more now, so she looked up at him—he was so near, lying on her like this—and smiled. "Mmhmm," she agreed. Now that this was over, she felt relieved. They had taken the plunge. There was a part of her that couldn't believe it, couldn't quite believe she had actually done this, but the overriding feeling she felt was an incredible closeness toward him.

"And it won't be painful again."

She leaned in and kissed him tenderly, then drew back and regarded him. "I believe you," she said, "but it didn't hurt after a while anyway, and even while it did, the rest of it was so good that I stopped thinking about that."

He smirked cockily at her, and this time it registered with her, but that was all right. He could smirk as much as he wanted to. She broke into a grin of her own, which quickly turned into a happy laugh. He couldn't resist; he leaned in and gave her another kiss before rolling off her onto his side and pulling her close and wrapping an arm around her. She laughed blissfully again and cuddled against him, enjoying the feeling of being enclosed in his embrace. They stayed awake a little while longer, exchanging soft kisses and tender wordless gazes, but it was not long before they both fell into a pleasant, relaxing sleep.

* * *

She was asleep. He was holding her in his arms closely enough that he could definitely tell when she had fallen unconscious. Her breathing had become normal, and the still-excited tension in her muscles had seeped out. She was sleeping soundly now, but Flynn stayed up a little while longer. He had realized, ever since they became a couple—actually, he corrected himself, about a week before that, since there had been that period when they were patching up their friendship but hadn't yet taken that friendship to the next level—that he liked very much to watch her as she slept. It made him feel protective to watch her slip into a peaceful slumber while he was right next to her. He would watch over her as long as he could, and he wouldn't have anything disturbing her while she rested.

And now, the contented pleasure he took from this observation had taken on a new meaning. As of tonight, they were not just friends, or even girlfriend and boyfriend. They were... Flynn paused in thought. They were lovers, he decided, turning the old-fashioned word over in his mind, becoming comfortable with it. It sounded almost archaic now, a relic of a more romantic era. It was a shame, Flynn thought, that the poetic word no longer necessarily applied to a relationship with a sexual dimension, but for them it _did _apply, and he would claim it. It was taking something back, something he had lost—or thrown aside.

His mind began to sift through memories he now wished he didn't have. College memories, first of all. Having gone off to school early, he had been underage until his junior year, so no one dared touch him. Besides, he had the reputation of a nerd—an overachiever, an up-and-comer who sucked up to the professors. He had spent more energy seeking the professors' approval than that of his own peers, knowing perfectly well who had the ability to bestow material benefits, and it _was_ their patronage that got him a job in the DC area. It was really no wonder he had ended up on K Street. But he was still a young man with the urges of one, and after he came of age, for the rest of college he had had his share of kisses and touches, starting off fumblingly but becoming much better with time, though never going very far. He didn't want to go very far. The woman he _had _been interested in while in college was the classic unattainable lady for the young squire, at least until he made himself worthy of her. Oh yes, he thought, he had a veritable literary epic in his mind about that—until that fateful night when he overheard her snobbishly trashing him to some preppy companion.

Once he was in DC, however, Flynn, by then 19 years old, had decided that he was through being a kiss-ass nerd. He was on top of the world now, and he had a lifestyle to live up to. He was going to _get laid._ And so he did, the first night he had a real date in town. He couldn't even remember her name anymore. She was a summer intern for somebody, and she was still two years older than he was despite the significant difference between their career levels. Of course, he was used to being younger than all his peers, and he still had stars in his eyes at that point.

After only about two weeks of dating, she decided it was "too serious" for a summer fling, which was all she had wanted, and broke it off. That hurt. It seemed so pointless, such a waste, as if he had thrown something away. But he buried his hurt, ignored it, and told himself that he would _prove_ it didn't matter to him by _buying _pleasure when he desired it. At times he could even believe that. Still, it wasn't nearly enough. From time to time he found that he just couldn't lie to himself any longer, and he attempted to look for a person with whom he could have a real relationship. But those attempts always ended after one or two dates, one or two degrading hookups that felt little different from the impersonal nights with a paid escort.

Until a few months ago when that had all, finally, changed.

At last Flynn found a stopping point for the flow of his memories—right back where he started, thinking about the sweet young woman sleeping peacefully next to him. There was never any silliness about "becoming worthy of her" by worldly means—this was, from the start, a different kind of attraction, a more mature one. They had taken each other for what they _were,_ flaws and all. He was so glad that his intentions for Rapunzel on the night they met had not been realized that night. That _had_ at least started off as another attempt to spark a relationship, but he realized now that what he had been doing was pointless at best and counterproductive at worst. He was glad that they had gotten to know each other first, and very well at that, so that this _meant_ something. He was glad that her first time could be _this_ way rather than how it had been for him.

And he had been the one to give that to her. He couldn't have the happy first-time-ever experience she had with a _lover, _but he could still _be_ a lover, and he did have the happy experience of _giving_ it to her. At that thought, a broad smile formed on his face. He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the forehead.

"Mmm," she murmured in her sleep.

He drew away, not wanting to wake her up, and gently rested his head on the pillow beside her.


	7. Morning After

**Bonus Scene: Morning After**

* * *

**Prompt by an anonymous reader**: "(Chapter 13) Let's see some of Flynn's cockiness from the morning after..."

**Chapter Notes:** Yes, let's. A prompt after my own heart.

This was edited from its original form, not to change the sexiness, but to add in some small details that slipped my mind. I wrote in _Bad Influence _during the pregnancy discovery chapter that she thought about the possibility as soon as her second time, which this is. This scene now accounts for that and "foreshadows" a bit too. **Occurs near the end of chapter 13. Rated M.**

* * *

Rapunzel woke up the next morning in a rather embarrassing situation: naked, wrapped into Flynn, and—at the same time—effectively pinned to the mattress by him. During the night, they had rolled around without fully breaking from their embrace, and he now lay on top of her from head to toe. He was significantly bigger than she was, and it was pretty confining.

As she reached over to silence the alarm, he naturally awoke from her squirming beneath him. His eyelids opened a crack as the noise stopped, and one side of his mouth curled upward wickedly as he too became aware of their position. However, he did not make any move to free her even when she retracted her arm from the nightstand and began to stretch her legs, trying to wriggle out and get off the bed. He merely propped himself up a fraction of an inch on his elbows and gazed down at her with a smile. He was having none of it.

"Good morning, dear," he said in a surprisingly sardonic tone for this early in the day. Rapunzel couldn't believe it; she was barely awake and he was already seizing an opportunity to be a smart-aleck. "Where do you think you're going?" He still displayed no intention of letting her out from under him; indeed, it felt to her that it was quite the opposite, a feeling that intensified as one of his hands found its way to her hip.

Her face reddened. "Flynn, absolutely not!" she exclaimed as she suddenly had it dawn on her what he probably intended. "I just woke up, and I have to go to work! You can contain yourself for five or six hours, can't you? I mean, you contained yourself for days—weeks—until last night."

He raised an eyebrow. "Sure, but that was because you weren't ready. Why _exactly"_—his other hand gripped her opposite hip—"should I contain myself _now?"_

"I need to get ready for work," she repeated in a feebler tone, cursing herself inwardly for letting her resolve weaken so easily. She had heard about this, how men were often aroused first thing in the morning, but she had to admit, she was surprised to experience it in herself as well... The memories of last night were filling her mind, and with them was the desire to try that again...

Still, this was not a good idea, she thought. She didn't have all night long now. And besides, doing this without protection, as he seemed inclined to do with her—

He grinned arrogantly, interrupting her stream of thoughts. "It won't take long. Fifteen minutes, tops. You've got plenty of time... and besides, you can show up at the office nice, refreshed, and... _bright-eyed."_ He gazed down her unclothed body, then back at her face, as he let a hand trail up her side. He wasn't even trying to hide his cockiness, or the awareness that he would very likely get what he wanted.

_Professional persuader indeed,_ she thought wryly. She met his eyes, which were glittering with naughty intent. "You're awfully full of yourself," she said.

He leaned forward, letting the tip of his nose touch hers ever so lightly. "Yeah? _You'd_ rather be full of me, wouldn't you?" he hissed.

A sudden sharp thrill coursed over her body, but she gasped in shock and felt her face grow heated. "You—" she sputtered.

He merely leered back, millimeters from her face, and said, "Just like you were last night, right?" He gripped her hips possessively again. "Come on... we both want it," he murmured.

She gave up. He was right there, he wanted her, and she could feel the heat of his skin and his breathing and yes, his erection pressing against her, and why not admit it? She was turned on too now. His cocky sarcastic attitude tended to do that to her. And as for that half-formed thought that he had interrupted? Well, she thought, they had already done it without anything last night, so what difference did it make if they did it again a few hours later? She probably wasn't fertile at the moment, and she decided that they would just have to start being careful in the _future._

"Oh, all right," she muttered.

He smirked in triumph and thrust forward, filling her. It was easy this time, and it barely hurt at all. She wrapped her legs around his waist and rose slightly off the mattress, gripping his shoulder blades, as he began to move. There was no pain now, only a delightful friction that, combined with the early-morning horniness, was bringing both of them to a peak faster than last night.

They came in _less_ than fifteen minutes. For a minute, when Rapunzel was coming down off her high, it seemed to her that she must have been lying in bed for a long time, but when she finally completely came back into herself and glanced over at the clock again, she realized that she still had almost an hour before she needed to be taken to the station to catch the Metro. She glanced up at him. He looked sated—but very, very smug now.

"Okay," she said, "I've given you what you wanted, what you just _couldn't_ wait for, so now I _really_ need to get ready for work." She was trying to inject authority into her voice and make it sound as if this was some favor she magnanimously bestowed upon a pitiable Flynn, but he saw right through the ruse.

"Oh please," he said, scoffing and smirking at her even as he gently got off her. "You wanted it too, and you proved it by squirming and coming for me, so don't even try that."

She couldn't help but grin back at him as she sat up, stretched, and let her legs fall over the side of the bed. "Maybe," she said.

"'Maybe.' Definitely, you mean," he said with a nudge.

She peered back defiantly and stumbled over to the dresser for a new pair of panties, refusing to acknowledge him—or, perhaps, trying her best to hide the smile on her face so he couldn't see it.

He ambled over so quietly that she nearly jumped in surprise when he leaned over and hissed in her ear, "They say that early morning exercise is good for you."

She couldn't stop herself. Turning around to face him, no longer trying to hide her amusement or delight in this teasing, she smiled crookedly and replied, "Well, then, in that case perhaps we should make a habit of it."

He burst into a grin. "I completely agree."


	8. Sick Day

**Bonus Scene: Sick Day**

* * *

**Prompt by xXsunlillyXx**: "A small drabble idea...  
Because we all love Flynn's over-protectiveness when it comes to Rapunzel ;)"

**Chapter Notes:** This one probably could have had a more creative setup... but I guess it emphasizes his protective nature if it shows up in ordinary situations as well as threatening ones. No edits to this one; I am getting over a cold myself at the moment and that's pretty much how it is. **Occurs during Chapter 14. Rated soft T for a suggestive reference.**

* * *

Rapunzel woke up one bright sunny Saturday in early July and immediately realized that something was wrong. Her head seemed heavy and stuffy. A dull, throbbing headache simmered behind her eyes and cheekbones. Her throat also felt raw. She frowned to herself as she let her legs fall over the side of the bed. Flynn was still fast asleep on his side. She glanced at the clock and shook her head in annoyance—which made the headache worse, so she stopped at once. She didn't quite know where the annoyance came from—nothing had happened between them—but for some reason, it really irked her for him to sleep there so calmly and peacefully at ten-thirty in the morning while her head and throat were hurting.

"Wake up!" she snapped, nudging his head roughly.

He jolted awake. "Wait what?" He blinked and gazed up at her. "What's wrong?"

Her head was pounding now, and the feeling of stuffiness had suddenly seemed to coalesce in her nose. Breathing though her nose was difficult. She understood now—somewhere, maybe work, more likely the huge crowd at the Independence Day show, she had picked up a cold. She felt bad now for being harsh with him. Sinking down on the mattress, she put her head in her hands. A swimming feeling, as if it were once again too heavy for her body, came over her.

Flynn didn't wait for an answer; it was clear enough to him that Rapunzel was not feeling well, and that was all he needed to know. He sat upright and leaned over her, putting an arm around her shoulders.

She pulled away. "I've got a cold," she said unhappily. "You probably shouldn't get too close."

He gave her an ironic smile. "Sweetie, I'm pretty sure I've already been exposed. I mean last night, we were _rather _close, wouldn't you say?"

She blushed faintly but managed a smile herself. "Okay, you have a point."

He grinned and pecked her lightly on the cheek, then got up and headed to his closet. "I'll make some coffee—"

"No!" she objected. Ordinarily she liked coffee, but at the moment, the thought of the strongly flavored beverage—as well as a lot of other things—was dreadful. Flynn stopped and regarded her with a quirked eyebrow. She took a deep breath. "I don't have much of a taste for it this morning," she explained. "So don't make any for me. Have we got any green tea?"

"I think so," he said. "You're mainly the one who drinks it, but last I looked, there was some. Do you want me to make you a cup of that instead?"

"Well, I can do it... but you're sweet." She still felt bad about waking him up the way she did, and she wanted to try to make it up to him.

"Of course I am," he smirked.

She muffled a laugh as she got up and went to her own closet to pick out some clothes. Since it was a Saturday, and especially since she was sick, she pulled out a loose, oversized T-shirt and inexpensive elastic-waistband knit shorts. This way she would be comfortable—well, as comfortable as was possible.

They shuffled into the kitchen and began to prepare breakfast. Rapunzel did not feel like having cereal with milk. In fact, she did not feel like having much of anything. Waffles and pancakes were too sweet. Biscuits and hot oatmeal didn't have enough of a taste to appeal to her right now—for she already felt that her sense of taste was dulled. Bagels might be all right, but cream cheese was in the same category as milk: another dairy product that she didn't want when she felt like this. Eggs were equally unappetizing. Unhappily she opened the refrigerator door and fished around the crisper for fruit as he fixed the coffee maker for himself and heated up some water for her.

"You know," he remarked suddenly, "there is a hot dish that I had growing up in the south. Have you ever had grits?"

She gazed up with bleary, puffy eyes. "No. Does it have a strong flavor?"

"It's salty. Want me to make some?"

She shrugged. "Okay."

He took out a pan and poured a small amount of water into it. He sprinkled salt over the pan and reached into the cabinet, taking down a box of what looked like really large-grained cornmeal to Rapunzel. She slumped over to the table and took her cup of hot water, putting sugar into it and a bag of green tea. When it was ready, she took a sip. The hot liquid hit her sore throat and instantly soothed it. The steam from it seemed to open up her sinus passages a bit too. She closed her eyes in relief.

"Do you want some juice?" he asked.

She thought about it. Yes, the acid of the juice would be good. "Yes," she said.

Soon breakfast was ready. Flynn poured himself a cup of coffee and got out bowls for them, which he filled with the grits. He brought the bowls, margarine, cups of juice, and his coffee to the table and set down her cup and bowl in front of her. He put margarine on his and began to eat.

She looked at the grits. It looked kind of like mashed potatoes to her, if they were grainy—or rice, if the grains were chopped up. She had certainly seen more appetizing-looking foods. But whatever it looked like, she decided that the fact that it was giving off steam was a good thing. And it was salty... Gingerly, yet hopefully, she picked up her spoon and tasted it. A smile broke over her face. "This is good," she said. She took another bite.

He smiled back. "I'm glad you like it. I think it's better with this on it"—he pushed the margarine toward her—"but you might not have a taste for it." He wiggled an eyebrow wickedly at her. "I actually think it's even better with bacon bits and cheese, but—"

"Ugh," she said. She reached for the margarine.

He snickered. "Right. No meat... and I guess you don't feel like having cheese," he finished in a more sympathetic tone.

"Maybe some other time," she agreed, tasting the buttered grits. "Mmm. It _is _better."

Rapunzel felt a bit better after breakfast was over. This boyhood dish of his had been a good idea, certainly, and the tea and fruit juice had helped with her throat. She made to clean up after herself, but he darted over.

"Don't worry about that," he said, taking her bowl away and putting it in the dishwasher for her. "I'll take care of this. Why don't you have some more tea?"

Rapunzel complied, filling her cup with green tea again and carrying it out to the living room. She slumped on the couch and set the cup down on a coaster on the side table.

Soon Flynn was finished cleaning up. He came out to the living room and sat down next to her. "I'm so sorry you feel bad," he said, placing his arm around her shoulders. She shook slightly at his touch. He noticed at once. "Do you think you have a fever?" he asked concernedly.

"No, I don't have a chill," she said, taking another sip of tea. "I just don't feel good in general."

"Colds suck," he remarked sympathetically.

"They do," she agreed. She thought a moment. "I do feel kind of _cold,_ though. Not _fever _chilled, but just normal cold, if you know what I mean."

He placed a hand on her forehead at once. "Well, your temperature does seem normal... but I'm going to change the thermostat to 75," he said. He got up and headed toward the wall where it was located. "I know I like it colder than you do. You'll be more comfortable with it a little warmer."

She smiled wryly at him. "Thanks," she said teasingly. "I know that's quite a sacrifice for you."

He turned around and winked at her as he adjusted the temperature. "Well, if you still feel chilled after it warms up, I _do _want you to check your temperature," he said, heading back toward the blue couch. He sat down next to her and threw his arm around her again, pulling her close and curling up with her. "I don't have anything I have to do today—except take care of this girl I love," he said, reaching over and giving her a kiss on the forehead, "so we can just watch movies or whatever you want."

"Maybe in a bit, yeah," she murmured as she snuggled into him happily. She didn't like being sick, but if she _had _to be, she knew she couldn't be in better hands than his.

* * *

**End Notes:** And some responses to the reviews. Wolfram, yours is duly noted and an interesting idea... though I'm not sure I can make it work in DC. Maybe they go on vacation. I can work with that and hope it's not too far removed from what you imagined. TodosMueren, what have you done, saved the blog drafts to your computer and checked your guesses against that? That would be flattering, I'll admit... but if your memory really is that good, then I'm impressed.


	9. Dark and Stormy Nights

**Bonus Scenes: Dark and Stormy Nights**

* * *

**Scene 1 prompted by my own thoughts.**

**Scene 2 prompt from TodosMuerenAlFinal:** "We all know Flynn Rider. Fairfax Flynn Rider. Ex lobbyist Flynn Rider... He's incredibly handsome. He's rich. He's loving, caring, giving and protective. He's honest and he's faithful. He's a good husband and a good father. And he's grrrreat in bed... Now, COME ON! He MUST have ONE defect..."

**Chapter Notes:** I've combined the "storm" pieces into one, though they occur at different times.

Scene one was inspired by Hurricane/Superstorm Sandy in 2012. If you like, you can think of the storm in this fic as that storm, but since this setting is AU of the real world, it doesn't have to be. **Occurs between chapter 21 and the epilogue. Rated K+.**

Scene two shows the consequences of Flynn's defect, which is arrogance. It is set in a traffic jam in a blizzard, a situation that should be familiar to anyone who knows DC. **Occurs between chapter 21 and the epilogue. Rated M.**

* * *

The wind, which bore cold rain that stung their faces, was already up as Flynn and Rapunzel shuffled through the revolving door into the fancy lobby carrying shopping bags full of food. Worry lines marked his face as he turned to her.

"I hope this isn't a mistake," he said as his gaze dropped from her face to her lower abdomen. "I still think you should have flown out to Denver to be with your grandparents, but it's too late now."

She shook her head. "I told you, if you stay, I stay—and you wouldn't think of leaving _yourself."_

"Because there was no reason for me to leave."

"Then there was no reason for _me _to leave."

"I just don't want you to panic if it gets rough," he said.

She actually laughed at that. "I won't panic."

"Also, we're probably going to lose power. It'll be cold."

"Then we'll huddle up and start a fire," she said, smiling at him. "Your fireplace isn't entirely ornamental, even though _you _probably have never used it—"

"You assume a great deal," he said in a faux-defensive tone.

"And we got all that wood yesterday for a reason, remember."

He managed to smile back as he shifted his sack in his arms. "Yes, but still..."

Another condo owner, a woman with four little redheaded girls—three of them tugging at her skirt—was in the lobby as well, and she turned to her fellow residents with a look of concern and sympathy. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help but overhear," she said. "What floor are you on?"

"Twelfth," Flynn said. "The top."

The lady glanced at Rapunzel and the visible bump that her Empire-waist peasant blouse did not conceal. "The winds will be highest there. We're on the fourth floor—and if it gets bad, please feel free to come down."

"Thank you," he said, looking at the lady with gratitude. "We'll keep that in mind."

An elevator bell sounded, and both families piled into the unit. Rapunzel set down her grocery bag and stretched her arms. She was only about a month and a half into the second trimester, but she was still starting to feel the extra weight. The mother and her four children got off at their floor, and Flynn and Rapunzel stayed in the elevator until it reached the top floor.

"I know you're concerned, but the community managers made everyone put up their storm windows," Rapunzel said as they walked down the hall to their condo. "So it ought to be all right."

He unlocked the door and let them in. "It won't be fun, Rapunzel."

"Maybe not," she agreed. "It's not my idea of fun either, but c'mon Flynn, you act like I've never seen bad weather before. I lived in a cabin in the Alaskan mountains."

"This is a different kind of bad weather." He set down his bag of groceries on the kitchen counter next to hers.

"Maybe so... but I think you're just worrying about me because that's what you do," she said, pinching his side teasingly.

He turned around with a raised eyebrow and a mischievous twinkle in his eye. Her eyes grew wide, and she turned to run, but he darted across the floor and grabbed her around the waist before she could. "Oh no you don't," he murmured in her ear as he caught her. "I'm protective, you say?"

"Very," she agreed. His grip on her waist tightened, sending a rush of pleasure over her.

He nuzzled the top of her head. "Then it's because you need it," he said. "Since you wouldn't let me fly you out to your grandparents' house, you've got to put up with me."

"I think I can handle that. A month ago we promised that we'd put up with each other," she said softly.

He smiled as he released her and went back to his grocery bag. He began unpacking cans of tuna, a box of crackers, peanut butter, and cookies. She brought out a bag of apples and a loaf of bread. The extra jugs of water they had filled, in case the water system failed, already sat on the kitchen floor.

Shortly the food was packed up. They plugged in their phones to make sure that when—and Flynn was sure it would be "when"—the power failed, at least they would have a full charge. They shuffled out to the living room and sat down on the blue couch. He threw an arm around her.

"And now we wait," she said.

* * *

The wind gradually increased as the afternoon progressed. The newlyweds bustled around the condo, drinking coffee and hot chocolate while they still had electricity, but not committing to anything that would take a while to complete. Flynn glanced up at the windows, covered with see-through storm windows, and frowned from time to time. It had to be gusting around 60 miles per hour. Drops of rain lashed the walls at nearly horizontal angles. Occasionally a piece of debris from the ground, like a leaf or a fragment of sodden discarded newspaper, was blown against a window.

"This is going to be a bloody mess," Flynn remarked as he turned away from the window and headed back toward the kitchen for another cup of coffee. "The car is going to be coated in crap."

Rapunzel glanced up wryly at him as she poured creamer into her own coffee. "A lot of people have much bigger problems than that, Flynn."

"I know," he said. "We're fortunate, all things considered. It's going to be ugly for a lot of folks in days to come."

The storm contined to batter the windows as daylight gave way to dusk. Their condo occupied the southeast corner of the building, a fact that had made it more desirable when he had bought it a few years ago, but, unfortunately, now put it directly in the path of the winds from the offshore storm.

They had a hot meal for dinner, since they both silently expected it would be their last such meal for a while, but she did not prepare any more food than they could eat. There were no leftovers to put away and worry about spoiling.

The power went out as the sun dipped below the horizon.

"Figures," Flynn muttered as the lights snapped off. "I guess I might as well get this going now, before it gets too cold." He trudged over to the fireplace and lit the log that lay there. Three more logs were piled up on the nice brick hearth. He nudged at the burning embers with the poker, getting the flame to spread, and then adjusted the screen in front of the fire. Before long a bright fire crackled inside the fireplace. Rapunzel smiled, feeling a rush of inner warmth come over her at the sight of her capable husband tending the fire. She went back to their bedroom and emerged in a fleece hoodie, carrying a heavy blanket and a fluffy extra pillow. When they got ready to go to sleep, they were planning to cuddle up on the long sectional couch and quell the flames, leaving behind only glowing embers for safety's sake.

He sat down on the couch next to Rapunzel and placed an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close to him. She nestled against him and pulled one of the blankets over their legs. The wind continued to rage, the buildings and trees continued to groan and creak, and the sheets of cold rain continued to slam against the windows. They knew it would be with them for a while, and they knew it would leave behind a mess, but they also knew that together they could weather the storm.

* * *

**Pride Goeth Before a (Snow)fall**

* * *

"That won't help, you know."

Flynn took his hand off the car horn a fraction of a second before a sound could escape. He turned to face Rapunzel, who sat in the passenger seat with her arms folded over her chest, above her burgeoning almost-six-months-pregnant belly. Her face was a mixture of exasperation, smugness, and triumph—and only the exasperation made rational sense given their current situation.

_Rational_ sense, that is, which was different from _emotional_ sense. From an emotional perspective, Flynn had to grudgingly admit that the smugness and triumph in her visage made perfect sense.

Six hours earlier, at the bookstore coffee shop in downtown Washington where they had been Christmas shopping, she had told him that they needed to get away as soon as they could, because the storm was about to hit. She had gestured at the heavy gray sky out the large windows of the store, her face filling with concern. "They're calling for six inches in a few hours," she had said anxiously. "The weather man on TV said they were expecting it to 'bomb out' offshore. We need to get out of here, Flynn. People in this town don't know how to handle snow. It'll be bad if we don't get a head start on it."

In response, he had made this statement: "Oh, traffic will be fine. There may be six inches when the storm is over, but it won't be more than about an inch early on. These storms are always over-hyped. They never snow as much as people think they will."

She hadn't believed it then, but he had argued that he was the one with years of experience _driving _in this area, as opposed to only walking or taking public transportation. _He _knew how to handle roads slick with winter precipitation... and, more importantly, he had the car and he was the only driver, so he was ultimately the one calling the shots on it.

And that was how they found themselves stranded in growing dark in an unmoving line of vehicles westbound on I-66, while the storm flung snow-laden blasts at the windshield.

"You know, I _am _sorry about this," he said sheepishly to her, his features forming a rather pitiable, deer-in-the-headlights look.

Ordinarily that expression would be cute to Rapunzel, but at this particular moment, she was unmoved. "You should have listened to me," she said.

"I know," he agreed in a deliberately humble tone.

"But I guess nobody knows better than Flynn about anything," she continued sardonically. "He's the all-purpose expert. How _amazing_ he must be to have a better grasp on the weather than people who've studied it... or to predict _so well_ how DC people will respond to a snowstorm. Or—"

He scowled. "Look, I made a mistake, okay? _This _won't help either."

She stopped the flow of sarcastic digs and heaved a sigh as she put her head in her hands. The triumph and smugness melted away, as well as the exasperation, leaving her looking nervous and upset. "I know... I know. It's just... we've been in the car for three hours and we're barely outside of Arlington. I'm worried, Flynn." She put a hand on her belly and looked down.

He suddenly felt terrible about the situation. Reaching over, he placed a hand gently on her shoulder. She clutched at it with her own.

"I guess I might as well turn off the car," he said. "Traffic's not moving."

"Will you be able to start it again when people do start to move?" she asked concernedly.

He nodded. "Yeah. I just don't see any point in wasting gasoline. Let me know if you get cold, though."

They sat in silence for a minute or so. The cars around them still did not move, though a few impatient, irrational drivers did resort to honking their horns in vain. It occurred to Flynn that having the headlights on with the engine off would ultimately drain the battery, and that _would _be a serious problem, so he switched them off. The interior instruments also went dark, leaving the car's occupants surrounded by darkness on the inside, whirling blasts of snow on the outside.

Rapunzel suddenly unbuckled her seatbelt and scooted next to him, curling against him.

"You okay?" he asked, startled.

"Yeah," she said quietly.

He put his right arm around her, drawing her close. She leaned her head against his shoulder.

"I guess you're not _too _mad at me, then," he said through a smirk. He almost regretted saying it—it sounded rather arrogant, a quality that she probably would not find too endearing right now, since that was what had gotten them into this situation—but he couldn't resist.

"_Oh_ yes I am," she said immediately.

The rebelliousness and spunk were back in her voice, and he was glad. He would much rather have her bright and sparkling—even if it were the heated sparkle of annoyance with him—than morose and anxious. "Oh, are you?" he said in a taunting voice. "You're not acting like it, getting this close and all." He wasn't sure why he was doing this, but she didn't sound as if she was actually _angry. _If she started to get truly pissed off, he would stop—but for now, this could be fun. And it wasn't as if they had anything better to do.

She peered up at his face with a dry smile. "Actually, you're just the warmest thing in the car," she said, in a tone that suggested issuing a challenge.

He accepted the challenge. "Is that it? All right. But I can get you even warmer if you like." He winked at her and let the hand that was around her side trail down, resting briefly on her hip. Then his fingers found their way under her maternity sweater, ghosting over bare skin.

She gasped at what he was doing. "Flynn! We're in a _car, _in the _middle of a traffic line—"_

"In a snowstorm at night," he finished. He wiggled an eyebrow at her. "I think anyone who walks through this to peep in folks' windows deserves whatever they see." He unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned across the seat, slipping his hand under her waistband.

"Stop," she protested feebly, though she made no move to remove his hand herself. "This isn't dignified. It's like, I don't know, two teens or something—"

He chuckled at her feeble excuse and slid his fingers into her panties, leaning in closer. He gripped her around the waist with his left hand, holding her so that she couldn't twist away. "Yeah?" he whispered against her ear. "Did you fool around in a car with some boy when you were a teen?"

"Of course not," she said scornfully. "You know that. I wouldn't be surprised if _you _did it, though."

"Ouch," he said. "No, sweetheart, actually I didn't have my driver's license until I was in college, and I wasn't legal until I was a junior. I've never done _this _with anyone before either."

She wasn't sure what to say to that. A part of her did want him to continue—and the fact that they were in a car, surrounded by cars full of other people, did admittedly excite her. But he shouldn't be rewarded for the pride and arrogance that got them into this.

His fingers trailed down her skin, passing lightly over the tuft of hair, getting closer and closer to the most sensitive spot. His breath was hot against her face, and she couldn't ignore it, though she tried not to squirm _too _much at his touch. It would only encourage him.

"So how about it, love? I can't think of anything else I'd rather do right now." Even in the dark, there was enough light from the surrounding city and the reflection of the snow outside to make the wicked smirk on his handsome face _very _evident.

She gave up her pretenses of not wanting this. "All right," she said. She leaned forward and took his face in her hands, pressing her lips against his. He groaned, pulling her across the seat into his lap, where she faced him. His other hand never left its spot, and when she was settled, he let his fingers dart oh so lightly across her inner thigh. So close. _So close—_

Then he closed the tiny remaining distance, slipping first one finger, then the one next to it, into her center. She was absolutely wet, a fact that made him smirk in satisfaction, and he began to slide his fingers in and out. His thumb found her clit and immediately began to rub her, ever so gently. She let out a hiss and began breathing heavily, rocking with him, trying to keep pace with the movements of his hand. He brought his left hand up her back, resting it at last on the back of her head, and slid his tongue across her lower lip slowly.

"Getting warmer?" he whispered heavily in the brief moment when he surfaced from her mouth for air. At that same instant he slid his fingers out of her almost completely, leaving only the slightest edge of the fingertips inside.

For a moment she could only respond with a gasp and moan of need—intense need—for him to go back, to not leave her unfinished like this. Then he slipped his fingers back in her all the way, giving her the relief she sought. She found her voice, though it was husky and breathy. "You owed me this," she managed to say.

"Did I?"

"For getting us stuck out here." She spoke quickly, as if she had a time limit on getting the words out.

He knew why she was talking so fast—why she was gasping out her statements with such desperation. She was at his mercy; with just a touch, he could render her speechless again—and she knew it. The pad of his thumb, slightly calloused from hours and hours of writing, ran smoothly over her clit. She gave a whimper and looked pleadingly at him. She was so close, begging him wordlessly to finish, to give her what she wanted.

"Maybe I did," he agreed in a whisper. He brought her into another deep kiss. "Maybe I did," he murmured again next to her mouth, trailing his tongue lightly across the barest inside of her lower lip. "But _you _owe _me _now... so show me how much you liked that and come for me," he ordered in a soft, low growl. He pressed gently against her clit and plunged his fingers into her again as far as they would go.

That did it. She fell apart, letting out a cry and falling against his chest, breathing heavily, as sensations rippled over her. Although the heat had been off for quite a few minutes now, she was nonetheless coated in sweat, which her winter clothing kept sealed in along with the body heat that had generated it. As she finally began to come down, she felt his fingers slip out of her and slide oh so slowly up her inner thigh, toward her hips. He seemed to be pointedly leaving a trail of her own juices across her heated skin, where it would quickly soak into her satiny panties, and when she caught his eye, there was no question of it. The look he had on his face was positively evil. She realized that he wanted to leave evidence behind of what they had done.

Finally he brought his hand past her waistband, out from under her clothes, and into the dry air—but not for long. He was still smirking wickedly. Suddenly she realized what he intended and tried to back away, but it was no use. She felt his other hand, the one that had never left the back of her head, stiffen. He forced his sodden fingers between her lips, holding her head in place so that she couldn't move away from him. With no choice left, she began to suck and lick on his fingers, tasting herself, licking them clean. He looked very smug and satisfied as he slid them out of her mouth—for now. She could tell, still being seated in his lap, that he would soon have a situation that would need attending to, and she hoped that...

Suddenly he gave a chuckle and blushed faintly. "Well, that was good timing," he remarked. He switched the headlights on the car back on.

She peered around, craning her neck and shifting her position so she could see out the front windshield. The snow-filled gusts of wind appeared to have slacked off somewhat, and she was pretty sure her eyes were not deceiving her that traffic ahead of them was moving again. She shifted the rest of the way off him and fell back into the passenger seat, almost disappointed that this had to end.

He looked over and apparently saw the unhappy look on her face. "Hey, don't worry," he said. "We can carry on when we get home." He gave her a lewd wink as he buckled his seatbelt and started the engine.

She chuckled, winking back at him and buckling her own belt. "You're so full of yourself," she teased. "You assume I'll want to."

"Because you will," he said smugly. "I may not be able to predict a snowstorm, but I know I can predict that."

She blushed hotly and looked down at her lap, but she couldn't hide the smile that was spreading over her face.


	10. Withdrawal

**Bonus Scene: Withdrawal**

* * *

**Prompted by my own thoughts. NEW, never-before-seen chapter!**

**Notes:** In chapters 8, 9, and 10, Rapunzel develops a bit of an alcohol problem, using hard liquor as a crutch to deal with depression. This is unfortunately autobiographical, and as a Type A personality, it's not something in my past that I'm particularly proud of, so I didn't do anything else with that plot thread after I had her and Flynn talk again. However, after even a month, I expect there would be some minor withdrawal symptoms. This chapter is a h/c scene in which she has some symptoms the evening after Flynn comes to get her, and there's not much he can do but comfort her. Meanwhile, he has a flashback of something in his own past (and that is _not _autobiographical, for the record).

I should warn about that flashback scene: Younger Flynn is a pretty unpleasant character there. Obviously he doesn't remain so, and in fact, the scene is—in my mind—a wake-up call and the true beginning of his turn. But it may not be enjoyable reading.

**This occurs between chapter 10 and chapter 11. Rated soft M for language, mature references, and drug-related content.**

* * *

Flynn had just emerged from his office, a smile spreading across his face. He had purchased two tickets to Fairbanks for the very next day. The flights were not full; he supposed that even on a holiday weekend, not many people would be going there, only those who had family or friends in the area. There were two layovers, but that was probably unavoidable for such a long trip. Flynn was feeling good. He _knew _that once Rapunzel could go back to her childhood home and say goodbye to her mother, she would be ready to accept everything he wanted to give her. She did want it, after all. She still wanted it deep inside, since she had brought it up last night while tipsy. He had little doubt in his mind that they would become an item at _last _soon after they returned from the trip, and the thought made him truly happy.

As he walked down the short hall and into the living room, the blue couch came into focus. She was seated on it, the top of her head and her fluffy brown hair visible from behind the sofa. And she was...

Flynn felt his heart sink as he realized that she was trembling. _What can it be now?_ he thought as he darted into the room. Had she made herself upset thinking about her mother's death?

Her eyes were watery, but there were no tears, he realized as her face came into his view. He sat down beside her and gazed sympathetically at her, wanting to hold her and comfort her. "What's the matter?" he asked.

Her hands were shaking. "I just feel really bad," she said in a small voice. "I've felt kind of _weird _for about an hour, really weak and trembly, but I've got this headache now, and my hands just started shaking—I don't understand why—"

A horrible idea occurred to Flynn as she described her symptoms, but he wanted to consider other possibilities first. "Do you think it's because of anxiety over this trip, or from thinking about your mother?"

"I feel _good _about the trip," she said. "I _want _to go. This feels like I'm just _sick,_ rather than making _myself _feel bad."

There it was. Anxiety may have worsened it, but Flynn now had little doubt about what had set this off. "Rapunzel, how many drinks a day did you say you were used to having?" he asked uneasily.

"At least three shots at night... but I had more at the club last night."

"And this was every night for... how long?"

"Not every night," she said. "I didn't have any during exams, and for the past nine days I've been living with Max and Pascal... they haven't let me have any at night, so I've been sneaking it during the day when they were at work, just two or two and a half—"

Flynn sighed. "Rapunzel, this is withdrawal sickness."

The tears that had been threatening to fall from her eyes finally did. "I'm so weak," she moped. "I'm weak, and I'm a burden on you—"

"You are not," he said at once. "I'm _glad _that you're here. And you're not weak either. You're stronger than that chemical..." He trailed off, unsure of what to say. He had rarely had much difficulty coming up with the right words; it was a critical part of his former profession, and he had long known he had a gift for it, but this was different from anything he had ever had to do. "You haven't been drinking for _that _long and it hasn't been _that _heavy, so this shouldn't last too long. You aren't seeing things, are you? Or hearing them? Things that aren't real?"

She shook her head limply.

"It'll pass, Rapunzel," he said. "It'll pass because you are stronger than it." He reached out and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. He didn't worry about what she might think of it; he just had to hold her. She let out a sob of gratitude, allowing him. That brought a tiny smile to his face. And as he hugged her, Flynn's thoughts suddenly flashed back to another time and place...

* * *

He had just awakened in a strange room. Nothing looked familiar, and panic began to set in, sending his pulse into a rapid palpitation that somehow seemed vaguely familiar and yet intensified the panic even more. Where was he, and how did he get here? And how come he didn't remember these things?

He gazed around as it slowly came into focus. He was in a bed, at any rate. The pillows were very fluffy, even annoyingly so. His head was sunk into one of them. The next thing he noticed was that the pillow was damp with sweat... as were the sheets, as he realized.

Bits and pieces came back. This was a hotel room in Manhattan, he recalled, and he was here because the Stabbingtons' firm had thrown a party in their firm banquet/conference room for themselves and their lobbyists. And—_oh._ Flynn suddenly remembered what had happened.

_What the bloody hell was in that coke?_ he thought, anger now taking over his mind. He remembered now. The cocaine acquired by the partners had had something wrong with it. Or at least, he assumed it did. The insanely fast palpitations, sweating, and general sense of panic that he now recalled feeling last night—all of those things _might _be attributable to a bad reaction to the drug itself, or the drug mixed with alcohol, he supposed, but it had never happened before. After refusing to let them call an ambulance and being sent in a firm limo back to his hotel room, he must have come inside and simply passed out. He was still wearing the clothes from last night, he noticed, even the belt, which now dug painfully into his waistline. Yes, he must have simply come in and collapsed on the bed. He wondered how on earth he had managed to find the correct room.

He blinked again, noticing for the first time the blonde woman who sat stiffly in the armchair across from the bed, arms crossed, glaring at him with a thin-lipped scowl. He was sure he had not seen her before. He had _no _memory of being accompanied to his room.

"Who the fuck are you?" he snarled rudely, still feeling angry about the whole situation—though whether it was anger at the stockbrokers for having the stuff or at himself for doing it, he could not say—and not liking the look she was giving him. What right had _she _to look pissed off at _him?_ This was his hotel room.

She looked extremely affronted at this question. "I'm Vera," she said.

She was dressed scantily, wearing some kind of black pleather miniskirt and a glittery gold cami top that seemed almost to blend in with her hair. He supposed that she might be somewhat pretty, but at the moment, he didn't care. "Okay, Vera. How did you get into my room?" he snapped.

"I was sent here by the senior partners, the black guy and one of those redheads, to 'take care of you' because of the state you were in. I rode in that same limo with you, but I suppose you were too out of it to notice. You rushed in here and crawled on that bed sobbing about how you were going to die."

"Yeah sorry," he drawled sarcastically as he sat up in bed. His head was pounding, and he could not believe he was being lectured by a prostitute. "Sorry for not paying attention to your tits, because I really did think I might be dying. You were at the party, you say. Did you do any of that coke? There was something wrong with it."

"No one else had the problem you did."

Flynn chose to ignore this observation for the time being. "As you can see, though, I obviously didn't die, so your work is done. Now why don't you get the hell out of here and go wherever you're supposed to go?"

She huffed in anger as she stood up. "Fortunately, I have already been paid by those other men. And that's a good thing for you, because I would have lost a night of work otherwise, and _you _would be paying me for the trouble even though you didn't enjoy my services." She headed toward the door, striding past the unmade bed with contempt in her eyes. She paused and turned to him again. "I loathe working for people like you. The worst clients of all, you smug, rich Wall Street types."

"I don't work on Wall Street," he corrected with a smirk. "They've just hired my firm. I work in DC—on _K _Street."

"Same difference," she sneered. "Entitled, arrogant, obnoxious. The only good thing about it is that your kind _do _pay well."

He smirked again. "I understand your thinking _quite_ well, actually. It was _lovely _meeting you, Vera, simply _lovely."_ The sarcasm dripped from his voice.

"Likewise," she snarled as she opened the hotel door. She stormed out, and it slammed with a loud bang.

Now that the room was empty and a target for his anger was no longer present, Flynn found that he had no choice but to turn the anger toward himself. He collapsed on the bed again, his head still throbbing in pain. He wondered if she had been telling the truth—_had _he been the only one to react badly to the drug? Could he simply not tolerate it now? It was hardly his first time to take it, but drugs could suddenly do weird things for no apparent reason...

He sighed. How could he have let this happen? He could have been robbed blind, his identity stolen, or even worse. He actually _could _have died of a heart attack. He knew better, he really did... there was just something about these firm parties that sent all his better judgment right out the window. Being around these people caused it, though not from insecurity—quite the opposite. He was pretty well-off now, with almost a million bucks in assets, but when he was surrounded by these people who were mostly many times wealthier than that, he felt that he was one of them. It was as if their wealth and their years of experience somehow rubbed off on him when he was there, and so he took on the cocky confidence to do what they did. He didn't ever buy the stuff or do lines in private. It was only at these monthly firm parties.

_Not again,_ he thought. _This cannot happen again._

* * *

Back in the present day, Flynn squeezed Rapunzel with his arm still around her shoulders as a fresh sob wracked her body. "It'll be all right," he said as gently as he could. "It won't last forever, Rapunzel."

"My _head,"_ she sobbed. "It hurts so much. And my hands won't stop shaking."

"They will, though." Flynn wondered what one was supposed to do for this. _Was _there anything he could do other than wait for it to pass? He hadn't had a hangover in ages, but this wasn't a hangover anyway. "Rapunzel, could you sit tight while I look something up? I'm just going to go to my computer and see if I can find out if there's any way to ease the pain."

She nodded at him, shifting her hands to her sides, clutching her body, and pinning the shaking hands beneath her arms to try to stop the trembling. Flynn got up, giving her a very sympathetic look as he headed back to the office. He really wanted to kiss her... but he had to restrain himself.

Shortly he found what he was looking for. "The only thing I can do is feed you vitamins and get some more food into you," he called from the office. Fortunately, he had a bottle of multivitamins somewhere... he hoped they were still in date... He went into the bedroom, into his bathroom, and rummaged through the medicine cabinet until he found it. Yes, they were still all right to take. He got one out, broke it in half, and brought it out to Rapunzel along with a glass of water.

She took the vitamin, wincing as the large halves of the tablet went down. "Thanks," she said in a whisper. "Thanks so much for putting up with this."

He smiled and hugged her again. "It's an honor," he said.

"You must think I'm so pathetic."

"Not even remotely," he said. "I had a problem myself back in the day, about two years before I met you. I know how tough it can be."

"You did?"

"Mm-hmm." It wasn't a lie... even though he hadn't taken it often enough to have an addiction, the binging that he did was bad too, and then there was that morning from hell that he had just remembered.

She managed a muffled sob and then smiled weakly. "You really don't judge me?"

"Not a bit. I just want to help you get through it and move on to better things." And that, he thought, was true for a great deal more than just the withdrawal sickness. He gave her another squeeze. "Now how about some dinner?"

After that first remark, she looked up at him, eyes wide, seeming to understand the deeper meaning perfectly well—but the moment passed as he asked his question. "Sure," she said, keeping one hand around his waist for support as they stood up.

* * *

**End Notes:** Replies to reviews. Wolfram-and-Hart, gotcha! I'm not sure when I'll post your prompt... I have quite a few more older pieces to edit and upload, even though this chapter was new material... but I'm trying to post one thing a day now, so it shouldn't take too long to get through the queue of existing material. _This_ chapter was already in the works, which is why I put it up now. It wasn't a snub.

Noa30: Thanks! It is lovely. Your use of montages is always interesting. :) And the Flynn of that drawing/chapter 1 was pretty close, temporally, to the one in the flashback scene here.


	11. Nightmarish

**Bonus Scenes: Nightmarish**

* * *

**Scene 1 prompt from an anonymous reader: **"Rapunzel has a nightmare and it's up to Flynn to make things alright. *Fluff* :D"

**Scene 2 prompted by my thoughts.**

**Notes:** For the most part, part 1 is indeed sweet and fluffy. I'm sorry if the vivid narrative of the dream itself disturbs anyone. The subconscious mind can be a real (fill in the blank with the word of your choice), taking the fears and insecurities that lurk in the recesses of our waking thoughts and enlarging them into horrorshows when it has control, and I tried to make that part as realistic as possible despite the overall fluffiness.

Scene 2 is included here because it's a short piece, it happens around the same time as part 1, and I don't know what other chapter I could include it in. I guess there's a common theme here of their minds playing little tricks on them. It is a little drabble of Flynn writing, since even though my headcanon is now that he does lobbying again (just not as a "bad guy") about a year or so after the epilogue, he also continues to write. This drabble, however, does not take place that far ahead. **Both it and scene 1 occur between chapter 21 and the epilogue. Rated T.**

* * *

Rapunzel bounded across the elegant, be-fountained lobby of the condominium tower, her bare feet lightly touching the tile and then springing off the floor so fluidly that she felt as if she were flying. She had never done this before—never been _able _to do this before—and it was a wonderful feeling. The fountain system coiled throughout the lobby in a design that she had never fully appreciated before. It was so intricate, almost otherworldly in its pattern. She gazed up at the crystal chandelier that dangled several stories above, suddenly absolutely certain that if she wanted to, she could leap up and touch it before gently sailing down to the floor again like a feather. That's what she wanted to do, she decided at once. She hunched over like a jumper about to spring. Her heart pounded with anticipation.

And then suddenly, her attention was drawn to the trail of blood that led across the elegant lobby to the back, where the elevators were. That wasn't right. The blood seemed to lead... Rapunzel felt a shudder of horror ripple over her as she saw where the trail ended. It was right below her. This was her blood. But how could that be?

Flynn came into sight from around the corner. His face was set, his features grim and angry. He stared at her with undisguised rage. "You," he said accusingly.

She felt guilty, terribly guilty, all of a sudden. Frozen in place, her eyes fixed upon him, she stared helplessly at his face.

"You killed her."

Rapunzel noticed a bloodstained bundle of white linens in his arms that she hadn't seen before. She began to tremble. "I didn't kill anyone," she pleaded. "This is all a big mistake." But she knew, somehow, that it wasn't. She didn't even realize it at the time, but she knew now that she had indeed had a miscarriage when she was leaping about joyfully, and it was her fault.

"You lost her because you were careless," he said coldly, thrusting out the blood-soaked bundle to Rapunzel. She took it in her arms, utterly unable to refuse it, but couldn't bear to unwrap what was inside it.

"You weren't good enough," he said accusingly. "I don't want you anymore." A sneer formed over his face, and he turned away from her and began to walk away.

"Flynn, no!" she called out desperately, but he ignored her and disappeared into the shadows. She stood rooted to the floor, unable to follow him, holding the bundle. She didn't want to open it. She didn't want to see. But for some reason, she couldn't help herself as she fumblingly drew back a bloodstained flap of white material...

Rapunzel's eyes snapped open. The distorted image of the lobby, with its inaccurate fountain, over-large chandelier, and blood-spattered tile, dissolved, as did the bundle of horror that she had just been dreaming about holding. Darkness met her eyes instead. Her heart still pounded, and her body was coated in sweat. _It's not real, _she told herself determinedly. _That didn't happen._ As if to try to convince herself of it, she gazed out the window at the lights of Fairfax that cast a dim light into their bedroom even in the middle of the night. Her gaze then dropped to the man sleeping next to her.

She shifted in bed onto her back and touched her burgeoning abdomen. _Five and a half months and still there, and perfectly healthy, _she thought. _Perfectly healthy._ Resolutely, repeatedly, she thought this, as if casting an incantation against harm. The finger bearing her wedding ring—they both slept with them on—passed over the stretched skin. _That's fine too._

Flynn stirred next to her. She bit her lip, suddenly feeling terribly guilty about her movements waking him up. He blinked himself awake and gazed over at her.

"Are you okay?" he mumbled. "Why are you awake?"

She grimaced, suddenly ashamed of herself and what she perceived to be her weakness. She looked down guiltily, not wanting to answer, but he guessed the situation. "Did you have a nightmare?" he asked gently. She glanced up at him, eyes wide with pain, and nodded quickly.

He placed an arm around her and brought her close to him. "It's okay," he whispered, stroking her back. "It was just a dream."

Her words caught in her throat as she spoke. "I dreamed I lost the baby," she said. "And... that you blamed me... and left me. Left me holding her." She cast her eyes down, too ashamed to meet his gaze.

He flinched. She could feel it. He didn't speak for a moment, but finally he seemed to find words. "But none of that really happened," he said. He leaned forward and kissed her nose. His hand found its way to her belly. "She's fine, and she's been fine ever since we knew she was there." He caressed the spot gently. "You've been so protective of her, so careful about everything."

Rapunzel knew that was what her doctor had always said, every time she went for a checkup, but her last visit had been a week ago. Deep down inside she knew it wasn't a logical worry to have, but what if something really bad had gone wrong over the course of that week? A thought that didn't even cross her mind in daylight and waking consciousness was suddenly a lot harder to banish in the dark after such a vivid and terrible nightmare. And besides, there was something else... "But what if it did—what about you—"

He looked her straight in the eye. "I would never blame you, because I know you would never want that to happen. And I'm not leaving you even if it did. I promise you that." He kissed her cheek lightly. "But it won't, sweetheart."

"You can't know—"

"As far along as you are, the chances of it happening now are very slim. And you're so careful. _It will be fine, Rapunzel."_ He held her, hands on her sides, very firmly, as if to steady her from the turmoil of her own fears.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He drew her as close as he could, keeping his hand on her belly the whole time. The combination of his touch, her deep breath, his words, and her own general sense of returning to the real world seemed to be comforting her. Her heart was slowing down to a normal rate, in any case, and the images from the nightmare were fading from her memory even now. Her eyes fluttered shut once again. He gave her a squeeze.

Beneath the spot where his hand rested, she felt a kick. Her eyes popped open and instantly found his inches away, just as wide. He had felt it too. Even in the darkness, she thought she saw his brown eyes glittering over what had just happened.

"There you go," he said. "She's also telling you not to worry." A faint smirk graced his handsome features. He kept his hand in place.

"Don't be silly; she doesn't understand—if she can even hear anything yet," Rapunzel said, but in spite of her words, a grin was forming on her face too. This was not the first time by far that they had felt her kicking, and it had been going on for enough weeks that Rapunzel was used to it. But at the moment, it was definitely the most welcome thing that could have happened.

Another kick, which they both felt. The smirk on Flynn's face widened. "You sure?" he teased.

"Oh hush," Rapunzel said, stifling a laugh. She snuggled against him, feeling much better now.

"Are you okay now?" he asked in a softer, more serious tone.

She gazed up at him and smiled. "Yeah."

He smiled back, leaned over, and gave her a peck on the forehead. "Good. I love you, sweetie."

"I love you too."

He squeezed her again very gently before closing his eyes. She lay there for a few moments, relishing the warmth of him and the feeling of his arm around her like a protective shield, before nodding off herself.

No further nightmares troubled either of them that night.

* * *

**Last Two on Earth**

* * *

_Its progenitor came from the tropics, deep in the warm, dark, humid, seasonless womb that is the rainforest. The jungle pulses with vividly poisonous hues amid a background of green, blue, and brown, and there, the processes of evolution are not merely some imperceptibly slow physical change of familiar and long-established species over thousands of years. It is instead an experimental laboratory of new life, with species fated to be forever unknown to man bursting into being and then fading to extinction, whether because of some fatal flaw in their own genetic code, or because a species more suitably adapted followed them. It is cruel but beautifully necessary. A new mutation seeming to be perfectly fitted for its environment may be hopelessly, laughably inefficient in comparison to the mutation of tomorrow._

_Sometimes, a piece of genetic code reaches a kind of perfection for its tropical habitat, having proved its fitness by surviving while competitors vanished. But perfection in the tropical rainforest is no guarantee of suitability or even survival anywhere else on earth, and many an organism that thrived in the moist cradle withered away in the harsher environments of the outside world. Rather than leave a safe environment to be tossed into the fray of ruthless competition again, some organisms carrying such perfectly fitted code may remain in their niche, waiting for discovery._

_Or a more perfect union. A marriage with outside code, introduced accidentally, that could lead to offspring capable of what neither parent could do alone._

_When the Committee for Stewardship and Repopulation tracked down the last surviving geneticist of what used to be Valento Corporation, the man insisted that his company's intentions had been well-meaning. They never created artificial genes for any sinister purpose. Higher crop yields. Self-defense through pesticide generation. Beautiful colors. Fortification with vitamins. All good things._

"_But why emphasize use in the developing world?" the Committee asked—but he had an answer for that too, and it too was good. Help the starving. Encourage the poor farmers to grow their own food and become self-sufficient. Support new economies. All the very best of intentions._

_They most certainly didn't intend what happened, the scientist said indignantly._

_The Committee was unmoved by claims of "didn't mean to." What might have been acceptable, in happier times, for a careless child's mess, was only grating and irritating when applied to a hybrid natural/synthetic virus that brought a horrible new meaning to "survival of the fittest." They spared his life only because at that point, they needed every living soul they could find to maintain genetic diversity in what remained of the human species._

"That's amazing," came a familiar female voice from a few feet away.

Flynn whirled around in his chair and smiled as he met Rapunzel's eyes. She had been reading behind his back as he edited his work. "Thanks," he said. "I have no idea if I'm going to do anything with it, but sometimes I just get these ideas that won't let go, you know. I needed to get it out of my system."

She laughed. "So you just wanted to write a few paragraphs about... a world where most of humanity died of a hybrid GMO-tropical death virus. That's nice."

He grinned and winked. "You knew what kind of stuff I liked to write."

She smiled and began to run her fingers through his hair. "Oh, yes... and it serves a purpose, too. A warning."

"Nobody would see it as a warning," he said with a smirk. "Dystopia and post-apocalyptia are too fashionable now for anyone to take them seriously. If I expand this into a novel, the only purpose it will serve is to increase the balance of our bank accounts."

"Well, that's cynical. Accurate, probably," she conceded, "but still cynical."

"People like the idea of it on some level, and there's a certain romance about the scenario. Surviving on your own, with no help from institutions, just you and your few companions and the harsh new world. Which you're supposed to repopulate, of course." His hands found her waist and then moved slightly lower, lightly caressing the bulge. Five and a half months along.

She laughed and leaned down, pressing her face into his hair. She breathed deeply.

"What are you doing?" he said, stifling a laugh himself.

"You smell good," she said. She breathed in again. "It smells like your shampoo, aftershave and cologne nearby, and... something else. An organic scent. I guess that's _you._ It smells so nice."

Flynn raised an eyebrow as his hands moved back to her waist. "Rapunzel, do you want me to take you to bed?" he said. "Is that what you came in here for?"

She drew away and looked at him indignantly. "No! I mean, if you want to, but that's not why I came in here. I just wanted to read what you were writing."

He smiled. "Well, that's it. It's just a little drabble. Maybe it'll become a story; maybe it won't... but I'm done for the night." He stood up from his chair and stretched.

"Then I should get dinner going," she said in a different, more businesslike tone as they began to walk out of the study.

He put a hand on her shoulder. "Wait. I kind of want to go out tonight. That okay?"

"Want to reassure yourself that the human race still exists?" she teased him. "That we're not the last two on earth—well, three, I suppose—and it's still safe to gather in public?"

He smirked. "I wouldn't admit it if I did."

"You don't have to," she exulted. He put on a fake hurt face at this. "Oh, don't. You know I love you for being imaginative," she cried.

"And I, you," he said. He leaned down and kissed her on top of her head. "Let's get ready, then."


	12. Confidence

**Bonus Scene: Confidence**

* * *

**Prompted by my own dirty thoughts.**

**Notes:** I don't have much to say about this. Nobody asked me to do it, so I'm afraid I'm fully responsible for this one. It has been edited in multiple places from its original form, because I grew highly dissatisfied with the conversation in the original draft. **Content warning for bondage. Occurs during chapter 18. Rated M.**

**Responses to reviews:** To the guest reviewer, thanks, I'm glad you enjoyed it! To Eugene's Blondie, sure! I have an idea in mind and I will be sure to write it up and post it before Christmas.

* * *

He was always the one who was there for her.

From the moment that she had her first bad flashback, to the revelations about her unhappy childhood, to the night that she had gotten herself locked out of her friends' apartment and had to call him to come and get her, Flynn had been there for her when she needed him—and had admitted to herself that she did. There had been that terrible month, after they had fought, when she had needed him (and he had needed her) but had not wanted to talk to him, but that was easily the most difficult time in his adult life. He had wanted to be there for her, but he knew that she did not want to accept him yet. It was hard.

Afterward, he had been the protector, the comforter, and he had liked that. There were few things, he had thought, that were nicer than knowing that you were there for the woman you loved.

But as Rapunzel towered over him, fumblingly tying his hands to the bedpost with _his own silk tie,_ he wondered if seeing that woman so confident in herself might actually be one thing that _was _nicer.

He couldn't believe it. Every single time they had done this, even the times when she had instigated it, he had ultimately been the one to take charge in the act itself. She had not been confident enough in herself. Once she had confessed to him that she was afraid he would be disappointed in her abilities, especially since it worked so well for both of them for him to set the pace. He tried to reassure her, but she hadn't believed him, he could tell. It was unfortunate. The thought of letting Rapunzel take the lead had always sent shivers of pleasurable anticipation up and down his body ever since he let the idea pass through his mind. His writer's imagination had not exactly been his friend in this (or maybe it _had,_ he thought), as he'd had quite a few fantasies about Rapunzel binding him and stripping off his clothes with her own soft bare hands. Was it finally about to happen for real?

He heaved a breath, trying to control himself. She had to be nervous about doing this and he wasn't about to freak her out by giving himself over before they even got started. Leaning against the pillow and trying to relax, he peered out at the petite brunette woman straddling him on their bed. She tied the knot and slowly drew back, her bright green eyes growing wide, clearly surprised at herself.

In spite of his desperate attempts not to overreact, in spite of _everything, _he felt his waistband tightening at the sight of her wide-eyed expression. Her gaze shifted downward from his face to his pants, and he knew then that it must be apparent to her. Of course it was—he was dressed in a suit, with the thin, well-fitted, tailored (compared to jeans or casual trousers) pants that came with suits.

Naturally, he thought. Every time he'd had this fantasy, he was wearing a suit in it. He briefly wondered why, but supposed it didn't matter. He just didn't want her to lose her nerve. He met her gaze and smirked at her, smiling lasciviously, waiting to see what she did.

Seconds passed. He noticed that her hands were trembling. That did it. He couldn't let her freak out _now._ He was too turned on already. She had to finish this.

Finally he broke the silence. "So are you going to just tie me to the bed and admire me?" he asked slyly. "I mean, I wouldn't particularly blame you, but I thought you had _other _plans."

That remark seemed to jolt her back to her senses. "Nope," she said shakily. She breathed in and out deeply. "I..." She trailed off before meeting his eyes again, those dark, dilated eyes that she could drown in.

He smirked. "Yes, darling?"

She took a deep breath and stared into his eyes. "I can't believe I did this," she said in a tiny voice. Her eyes grew somehow even wider. "What am I thinking?" She reached for his hands to untie them.

"_No!"_ he croaked. She stopped. Her gaze shifted to meet his. He swallowed hard, trying not to think about the heat in his pants, but finding it impossible to think of anything else. "Don't stop," he said huskily.

She blinked. Her hands fell away from the necktie that bound his. "Really?" she said.

He nodded. "I've wanted this for a while."

That seemed to change her mind. He could tell that she really wanted to please him, to prove that _she _could do this, but she was clearly having a crisis of confidence. "But I don't know what to do," she said, confirming his suspicions.

He swallowed again. "Belt," he managed to get out.

She glanced down at his waist again. With nervous, inexperienced hands, she unbuckled his belt and slid it slowly out of the belt loops. She held it in hand for a second before setting it aside. She placed her hands on his shirt collar.

"You've wanted this for a while?" she asked him softly.

He nodded. "Just like this. Even down to the clothes I'm wearing."

She looked his body up and down. "A suit?" She paused, biting her lip in a way that he suddenly found so arousing that he could hardly stand it. "Oh, I get it, because it reminds you of being a lobbyist and you want me to... have my way with you," she said softly, in an embarrassed tone. "While you're imagining yourself as that."

He blinked. Damn if she wasn't spot on. That was pretty much exactly what it was about. She was good. He met her eye and smirked at her.

She managed to smirk back, understanding his meaning. "I like how you look in a suit," she said softly. She unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt.

He took another deep breath, straining against the waistline that was still far too tight despite the removal of the belt, and peered out at her. "What would you _do_ with me if I were still at that firm?" he said lasciviously.

Another button popped open. The expression on her face suggested that she was catching on, gaining back the confidence that had briefly fled her. "Hmm, what should I do with you," she mused. She looked at him with a grin, understanding fully what kind of thing he wanted her to say and pleased to oblige. "You got away with some _bad _things, you know."

A shiver of pleasure rippled over his body. That was enough for her. She trailed her hands down his shirt and found the button on his pants. A quick fumble and it was open. Another little motion, and the zipper was down. She slipped her hands inside the waistband.

She was so close, her breath hot and panting near his face. He had to have her lips on his, _now._ He leaned forward. Sensing his movements, she pulled back, just out of his reach, and knelt between his outspread legs.

"Rapunzel," he moaned, straining against the necktie. "Please."

She gazed up at him, smiling benevolently, and slipped his pants down. "Not yet," she said. Keeping just out of reach of his straining, she placed her hands on his vest and unbuttoned each button slowly and deliberately. He groaned at her touch. She merely smiled back, clearly enjoying this, enjoying her newfound power, relishing the confidence she was given by his every reaction. _She _was doing this to him. _She _was making him feel this. It was quite different from how this usually went. She lifted her hands back to his partially unbuttoned shirt and began to unbutton the rest of it, untucking the shirttail from his open pants. Once it was open, she ran her hands down his bare chest. He could hardly stand it.

"You're tormenting me," he groaned.

She peered up at his desperate brown eyes. "You deserve it," she purred.

"Why do I deserve this?" he gasped.

She smiled and slid a single finger inside the waistband of his boxers. "For what you did."

He let out a cry. She quickly, deftly pulled down the boxers, gazing for a moment, then blinking and recovering herself. She looked up at his face once more. "You were greedy," she said softly.

"I sure was. Am I _now?"_ he whispered. His eyes were very dark.

Her eyes darkened too. Pulling back from him and sitting down at the foot of the bed, she slipped out of her work clothes—her blouse and skirt—very deliberately, making sure that his hungry gaze was fixed upon her the whole time. Under the clothing she wore a matching set of pale green lingerie. Her dexterous hands darted behind her back. The bra fell off. His breath caught in his chest. Smirking at him, she quickly slipped out of the panties. Now entirely naked, she crawled carefully over the king-sized bed and settled herself astride him once more.

"Yes, I rather think you are," she said, tracing his jawline with a single finger.

"You're right," he said in a husky voice. "I want you."

Her breath hitched. Suddenly, impulsively, she leaned forward and met his lips with her own. He closed his eyes in bliss and strained forward, forcing her mouth open with his tongue, trying to keep her in place and take back a little bit of dominance, even though he knew that she was in control.

She pulled away, leaving him panting and wanting. She smiled at him—that falsely benevolent, infinitely wicked smile that was about to drive him wild, a smile that he could not believe she had in her. And yet, she'd had him wrapped around her finger from almost the first day, he thought, so really, it was no wonder that she could do this to him with only her smile.

She leaned over him again, staying mere centimeters away from his face as far as he could strain against his bonds. Just out of reach. It was hard for her, he could tell; she wanted the closeness too, the touch of heated skin against heated skin. But she had to know that if she gave in and closed the distance, he would soon persuade her to untie his hands, relinquish control to him, and that wasn't the point of this, not at all.

"What do you want from me?" she whispered. She was so close to his straining form that he could feel her breath against his face.

"You know _exactly _what I want."

She peered up at him, still smiling, although she blushed at the words. Her breath was shaky, but she managed to get a response out. "Then talk me into it," she said.

His face changed to one of extreme satisfaction. Yes, he could talk her into it... and talking people into things was something he was uniquely qualified to do. He grinned. "I will," he purred. He gazed at her with a smirk on his face. "I think you want it too," he said softly. He leaned forward as far as he was permitted and stared her in the eye. "I think... it would be mutually beneficial... for us," he said slowly.

"Do you now."

He licked his lips. "I do."

A corner of her mouth turned upward. "But in this town... there would be reports that I was in bed with you. That's how they say it—'in bed with' so-and-so." Her voice dropped an octave. "That's how they report _inappropriate_ associations."

"What's inappropriate?" he purred. "I think you're _very _appropriate for somebody like me." He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

She let out a gasp of faux outrage, clearly enjoying this game. "How dare you say that!" she said.

"The truth hurts, doesn't it?" he said with a smirk.

She gaped at him for a moment before breaking into a smirk of her own. Then she drew back and placed a single finger on his length, stroking him oh so lightly.

He groaned. "Rapunzel... you're torturing me."

"You deserve that too," she said as she lifted her finger away.

"Then what do _you_ deserve?" he cried. "Please. _Please,_ Rapunzel." He gazed at her, eyes pleading desperately with her.

She was loving this. The smirk had spread all the way across her face, and her green eyes were shining in delight. She spread her knees apart and straddled him. He gasped, sure that she was about to give him what he wanted, but she stopped a few inches above the tip, balancing precariously on the bed, holding for support the same bedpost to which his hands were tied.

"For God's sake, Rapunzel. _Please."_

Her lips parted in a grin. With that one word, he had surrendered to her, and they both knew it. Any ground she seemed to give was now merely a reward, a prize that she chose to bestow. She leaned forward, millimeters away from his lips, and beckoned him to close the distance. With a grunt of relief, he did. She let him part her lips once more.

As they dueled, drowning in each other, trying to own each other through the kiss, she finally sank down upon him. He cried out in relief, biting her tongue as she slid onto him. "Oh yes," he moaned. "Yes."

She wasn't quite sure whether she could handle this next part, but she wasn't about to lose her nerve now. Finally breaking the kiss, she delicately placed her hands on his shoulders. She slid up, almost completely off him. He gave a slight whimper, eyes pleading with her once more not to separate entirely, but she had no intention of it. Quickly she slid back down. He closed his eyes in relief. She moved again. And again. He began to thrust upward to meet her, and they quickly picked up a rhythm that suited both of them.

After tormenting him for so long, she could hardly have waited much longer either. She needed this as badly as he did—and he surely knew it. That was the beauty of it. No matter how much one of them might pretend to be in control of the whole situation, there was a thread of need between them that gave the other one power still.

He was panting by now, clearly about to climax, and she was nearing her own peak too. They couldn't hold out for much longer. She let out a half gasp, half whimper, and fell apart, clinging to his shoulders in a grip tight enough that it would surely leave bruises, but he didn't care. He liked it. He loved watching her come apart above him like this. _Loved_ it.

With that thought, he followed her over the edge.

She was still caught up in her own release, but she was just aware enough to reach up, fumble at the knot of his necktie, and release his hands from the bedpost. He tossed the tie on the floor with the other discarded clothes. He let out another gasp of relief and immediately enclosed her in his now-freed arms, holding her close and keeping her in place as he emptied into her. He buried his head in the crook of her neck, squeezing her in a tight hug.

They remained like that for quite some time, both vaguely aware that it was only the afternoon and bright daylight awaited them outside, but neither of them caring. That had taken too much out of them. He pulled her down with him on the pillows, caressing her back, both of them breathing deeply. There would probably be other business to attend to that afternoon, but that could wait.


	13. Cabin Fever, Part One

**Bonus Scene: Cabin Fever, Part One**

* * *

**New scene!**

**Prompt from Eugene's Blondie:** "Since the season is in full swing, you think we could get a story set at Christmas?"

**Notes:** Not sure if any particular mood was desired for this piece, but since none was specified, I've considered that to be free rein. This isn't a problem-free sweet family piece, nor is it one in which the problem to be solved is something minor (someone's misunderstanding, mishaps in gift-giving or party-throwing, etc.). I've nothing against stories like that, but I'm not confident of my own ability to write them in an interesting way. I _can_ do sweet family pieces, but it's hard for me to write such pieces in a Christmas setting, because it often feels like sweetness overload in that scenario—and I worry that such a piece would be boring to read.

Instead, I've gone for a pretty significant (but not angsty) problem and situational humor. The chapter is based very heavily on something that actually happened to me. **Occurs between chapter 21 and the epilogue. Rated soft T.**

* * *

**Day T Minus One, December 23.**

Rapunzel stripped off the party dress she was wearing, taking care not to tear the shimmery green skirt or black rayon top. She watched out the corner of her eye as Flynn took off his suit piece by piece and gritted her teeth. There was a certain elegance to the way _he _got out of his clothes, whereas with her, it seemed sloppy and uncouth no matter how hard she tried. It wasn't fair. _She _was the woman; she should be the one who could pull it off. –At least, that was what the stereotype claimed. She supposed, resignedly, that it wasn't as if asinine pseudoscientific notions of "how men and women are" usually applied to _either _of them...

Sighing, she hung up the dress and closed the door to her closet. Just across the room, he was taking out a pair of dark blue jeans, an everyday white shirt, and his brown leather aviator-style jacket. She loved that jacket on him and would have admired him for a while, but they had to be somewhere soon. She walked over to the bed, picked up the warm outfit that she had folded and laid out there, and began to put it on. Her gaze happened to catch the clock on the nightstand and she sighed again.

"Flynn," she said, slipping on the heavy winter white sweater, "was it _really _the best idea to take the red-eye?"

He pulled his arms through the leather jacket sleeves. "The other option was to get up at five in the morning to catch the early flight," he replied. "Everything else was booked."

She grumbled to herself under her breath. It was still annoying, and there were times when she simply could not understand how he functioned on such a busy schedule. She was pretty driven and determined herself, but he absolutely put her to shame. They had been at a party until nine o'clock, and the flight was going to leave at eleven. Even after gaining two hours from time zone changes, they would arrive in the Denver airport at a truly ridiculous time. And then they would have to drive up that winding, twisting mountain road in darkness...

_Well,_ she thought to herself, _it does make more sense that they would want to celebrate Christmas in that chalet. It's so much more picturesque and private than the house in the city._

That much was true. Rapunzel's grandparents' vacation house, where she and Flynn had spent their honeymoon, was sure to be beautiful at this time of year. She could not blame them for wanting to see her and Flynn for the holidays, especially since they only learned of her existence over the summer, and it made more sense for the pair of them to fly out west rather than for the grandparents to fly to DC and stay in a hotel over Christmas. Besides, if they _didn't _go to visit the Kings, they would be spending the holiday alone. Pascal was going to stay with Max's family.

Flynn grabbed the handle of his large rolling suitcase—which contained Christmas presents for his wife and in-laws—and picked up his black leather messenger bag (the old brown one, the one that had for years held the only record of his adolescent writing, was too emotionally significant to actually _use_). Rapunzel followed suit, picking up her purse and smiling at him as he walked over to where she was. They left the condo together, making sure to lock it carefully behind them, and went to the parking garage where Flynn's car was parked. The cold air hit them like a punch to the face as they went into the drafty garage. Rapunzel shivered, hurrying to the car and getting in very quickly. He got in next to her, and soon they were on their way to the airport.

* * *

"You're sure about this?" Flynn asked anxiously, the blisteringly cold mountain air penetrating his jacket as he stood in the Mile-High City before the Kings. Mrs. King, it seemed, was going to drive the vehicle up the mountain, rather than the couple's driver and former chief of staff.

"I'm quite sure. He has family of his own, and I know perfectly well how to drive up that mountain," Mrs. King said. She was dressed in a long down-filled coat with a faux fur-lined hood. It was all she could do to not laugh at Flynn's choice of clothing, and she had to acknowledge a little amusement about seeing him shivering like he was. "The SUV has four-wheel drive. I've driven it up that road many times."

"But it's _so _late," he said. As if to emphasize his point, he accidentally yawned.

The Kings chuckled. "Yes, but it is later for you," Mrs. King pointed out, "since you are used to Eastern time. I'm perfectly alert."

"Grandma is a night owl," Rapunzel remarked, shivering in her own dark gray fleece wrap-style coat, trying to keep the large flaps of fabric from blowing in the wind. "Come on, Flynn. Let's just get in the car. I'm cold." She took his hand, opened the door to the SUV, and pulled him in behind her.

The Kings sat in the front seats, and Mrs. King started the vehicle. It was a good hour's drive to the mountain, and Flynn and Rapunzel were soon nodding off. Half-asleep, they curled up together on the seat. Flynn's arm found its way around Rapunzel's small form, and his hand rested protectively on her burgeoning belly.

Mr. King glanced behind his seat and smiled at the sight. Before the discoveries of this year, he never would have thought he would like Flynn Rider, whom he had thought of as a mercenary, virtually amoral young man who cared only about saving himself when he turned in the rest of his former lobbying firm to the federal government. Either Mr. King had been very mistaken in his true character, or his character had changed—or, he supposed, most likely a combination of both, because he now approved highly of how Rider treated his granddaughter, and he enjoyed the young man's wit and intelligence.

Before long, they reached the mountain. Mrs. King turned onto the winding road and began the slow, careful drive. Soon they were four thousand feet up, pulling into the short driveway of the pretty chalet that overlooked a wide valley. It was a three-level house, with the garage and mud room on the lowest level, most living spaces on the next floor (which had another door that led directly outside and one that opened to a porch), and bedrooms on the uppermost floor.

"Wake up, you two," Mrs. King said, nudging Rapunzel and Flynn as she turned off the car. "We're here."

Yawns met this announcement, but soon the entire family was safely nestled into the house. They all trudged upstairs, hauling heavy suitcases behind them. The big living room had a vaulted ceiling and high, two-story glass paned windows that provided a panoramic view of the south. There was also a long porch that extended the length of the house and a door that opened to it from the living room. The second "main" level—the floor with the bedrooms—had a wide balcony for the hall, which overlooked the living room. Off the balcony/hall were the bedrooms and bathrooms. Flynn and Rapunzel fumbled their way down the hall, taking the bedroom on the west side of the house, which they had used for their honeymoon. The Kings headed to the room on the east side. Both bedrooms had a set of tall windows, floor to ceiling, that offered picturesque views of the valley, as well as luxury bathrooms with another set of such windows in front of a hot tub. Flynn and Rapunzel were sure that they would use the hot tub at some point, but not tonight. It was almost three o'clock in the morning, and by this time, _everyone _was ready to get some sleep.

No one was awake when the snow started softly falling.

* * *

**Day One, December 24.**

The snow cover was about five inches thick, as they discovered the next morning. Rapunzel was enchanted. She had plenty of memories of snow-covered ground on a mountain, but there was something much cozier about it now. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that Mother never allowed her to play in it, always insisting that she would catch her death of cold. Rapunzel had mutinously thought that perhaps the risk wouldn't be _quite _as great if Mother hadn't shaved off all her hair... but she quickly banished such unpleasant memories. She and Flynn had already been out once to admire it, and they intended to go out again once breakfast was over.

"Aren't you glad we took the red-eye?" Flynn teased her over coffee. "We might have had trouble getting up the mountain if we'd taken the early morning flight."

Mrs. King popped a strudel bite into her mouth. "Oh, the SUV could handle this," she said after finishing the bit of food. "It's outfitted for snow."

"But I would have been wide awake, and I wouldn't have wanted to go up that road in these conditions. I was dozing last night and wasn't aware, so I couldn't say anything about it."

"Backseat driver, are you?" Mr. King remarked. He turned to his granddaughter. "Rapunzel, is that how he normally is?"

"I couldn't say," Rapunzel said. "He's always the one who drives. I don't know how."

"Thanks for that spirited defense of me," Flynn said in a faux hurt tone.

"You're welcome." She smirked across the table.

Shortly afterward, Flynn headed up to their bedroom to finally unpack his suitcase. He arranged his clothes in the closet and toiletries in the bathroom, keeping the Christmas presents stowed in the suitcase for now. Then he put on a different coat, a long black woolen one.

"Good idea," Rapunzel said, reaching for the same gray fleece thing she had worn last night. She hadn't brought a warmer coat. She tried to compensate by putting on a warm winter hat, gloves, and scarf, but she knew that she wouldn't want to stay outside in this for too long. It probably wouldn't be safe either, she thought. The temperature outside was quite a bit below freezing, and she was about six months along.

Flynn watched her put on the wrap and smiled to himself. She would definitely appreciate his gift.

* * *

That night, Flynn and Rapunzel holed up in private areas of the house as they wrapped their gifts for each other and the Kings. The Kings had gone to the house before their arrival and set up a Christmas tree in the open-ceiling living room, and it glittered with a color scheme of red, green, blue, gold, and silver. Flynn emerged from his spot, the side of the bed opposite the bathroom door (Rapunzel was wrapping gifts in the bathroom), and carried his boxes downstairs.

As he set them down under the tree, he heard a soft pattering outside the two-story windows. He glanced up. Was it more snow? He went over to the window and peered outside. It was difficult to see, so he turned on an outside light.

Rather than snow, it was sleet. Flynn frowned. He would have preferred snow, all things considered. It wasn't that sleet was any more problematic to drive in—the _real _problem was freezing rain and melted, refrozen layers of snow—but the probable implications of sleet were troublesome. It meant that the temperature the following day would probably warm up above freezing, and _that _meant that some of the snow (or sleet) might in fact melt and then refreeze, just as he didn't want to happen.

_Well,_ he thought stoically, _there's nothing anyone can do about it, and it's Christmas Eve. Might as well not worry about it._

* * *

**Day Two, December 25.**

Rapunzel squealed in delight as she tore open the wrapping of Flynn's largest gift for her. A royal purple wool coat lay in the box. She lifted it up, gazing admiringly at it. "This is just what I need," she exulted. "A nice coat that will also keep me warm."

"There's more," Flynn said, handing her the next gift, a much smaller one.

Rapunzel opened the box. Inside was a small jewelry-type box, which she opened to reveal a stunning diamond pendant necklace in white gold. She gasped.

"It matches your ring," he said with a smile.

Rapunzel glanced down at the engagement ring that she continued to wear even though they were married. This necklace did match it, though the diamond in the pendant was teardrop-shaped and a bit larger than the ring solitaire. What this must have cost...

_But no,_ she reminded herself as he helped her fasten the necklace, _that isn't an issue for him._

He drew away from her, gazing at her with that tender smile still on his face. That was too much for her. She threw herself upon him, wrapping her arms around his neck as she hugged him. He squeezed her back before they released each other.

"Now it's your turn," she said. She passed him one of her gifts. "I had no idea what to get a person who has everything."

He chuckled. "I suppose that's been true for the past six months," he said, alluding to the time when they officially became a couple. He opened the present. It was a book—but his eyes widened in shock as he realized what book it was.

"Rapunzel, I—" He was at an utter loss for words.

She merely smiled back. "Open it."

He began flipping through the one-of-a-kind illustrated edition of _Vigilante Rider,_ the dystopian epic of his namesake that he had written as a teenager_._ After a brief period when he had thought about reworking it, he had changed his mind and decided to pursue a new story idea instead. But at some point completely unbeknownst to him, Rapunzel had read this, made color illustrations of important scenes, and had taken it to a printing store to have a custom printing and binding done. The characters in the illustrations—the rebel vigilante and his love interest, an informant-turned-open-rebel (who he noticed had been renamed to _her _name)—looked like the two of them, just with rugged outfits and futuristic wartime gear. He set the book down, winded.

"Do you like it?" she asked. "I know what you said a couple of months ago, but I thought that something should still be done with it... since it was such a big part of your teenage years."

"I cannot believe you spent this much time on it," he said, still in shock, both at the amount of effort and the fact that he'd had no clue, not even the faintest hint, that she was doing it. "It's _amazing._ That... completely blows away everything I've given you."

"No it doesn't," she said, scooting next to him. "The saying goes that 'it's the thought that counts,' right? That applies to homemade things too. I don't think the amount of time spent on a gift matters any more than the amount of money, if it really is the thought that counts. Sometimes people can find something to buy that's just perfect, and you did."

He managed a smile at that. "I suppose that makes sense. Still... this is something, Rapunzel. This is really special." He hugged her again.

_Snap!_ A camera flash illuminated the room, surprising Rapunzel and Flynn. They broke apart and turned around at once to face the photographer, Mrs. King, who was standing side by side with her husband and beaming at the scene before her.

"You two are adorable," she said, putting down the camera.

"Well, look at this!" Flynn exclaimed, holding up the custom book. "Can you blame me for wanting to hug her? It's incredible!"

"It is quite impressive," Mr. King agreed. "Rapunzel is right, though—your gifts are excellent too."

"Is that all that the two of you want to open at the moment?" Mrs. King asked.

Flynn and Rapunzel exchanged looks and nodded. They had all agreed to spread out the gift-giving part of the holiday, opening one or two items in the morning and the rest after Christmas dinner.

"Well, let's have some brunch, then," Mrs. King said. "I have several flavors of hot chocolate, frappé, and cappuccino here, and _yes _Flynn, black coffee as well—"

"Just because I don't like to drink sugary milk syrup with whipped cream, sprinkles, and a dusting of _more_ sugar on top, it doesn't mean I only drink black coffee," Flynn objected. "I think dark chocolate flavor is _perfectly _acceptable for hot chocolate." He stood up, pulling Rapunzel up with him. "Besides, coffee is for _working _days. In DC."

"Whatever you say, Flynn," Mrs. King said with a grin. "I won't dare try to fix it for you, though."

"That's quite all right. I'd rather do it myself anyway." He went into the kitchen, opened the cabinet, and took down a box of semi-sweet hot chocolate mix.

Rapunzel shook her head in amusement as she walked over to her grandparents. "Look," she said, holding up the new necklace. "Isn't this beautiful?"

"It is," Mr. King agreed. "The coat is quite nice too. He has taste."

"I should say," Flynn called across the kitchen as he fixed his cocoa.

"I wasn't talking to you," Mr. King teased.

Flynn stirred his cocoa, his back turned to them. As Mr. King finished speaking, he stiffened.

"It was just a joke," Mr. King said at once.

"No, it's not that," Flynn said. "Look." He pointed out the nearest window.

The other three members of the family gathered around it, their breath fogging up the glass. "I don't get it," Rapunzel said. "It looks like rain to me."

"I _hope _that's all it is," Flynn said. "What's the temperature? Anyone know?"

"There's a thermometer out there," Mrs. King said. "I think it's accurate."

Without a word, Flynn set down his cocoa, stalked into the living room, opened the door that led to the porch, and went outside.

The others looked at each other. "What's this about?" Mr. King asked.

"I think he's worried about ice," Rapunzel explained. "You remember yesterday when he was worried that the SUV couldn't drive in the snow."

Flynn came back in. "If the thermometer _is _accurate, it's a degree above freezing," he said. "So yes—rain. For now, at least," he added in a low mutter.

"It'll probably just turn to snow later," Mrs. King said with a shrug. "Come on, Flynn, have your cocoa. Let's get a fire going, put on a fun movie, and enjoy Christmas."

* * *

**Day Three, December 26.**

"Well, that'll do it." Flynn glared out the kitchen window as if the world outside had personally attacked him.

A crystalline coating of a quarter inch of ice encased virtually every branch, leaf, rock, and even the house itself. The cold rain of the previous day had turned to freezing rain before reverting back to sleet, and the melted snow had refrozen overnight. As Flynn had said, "that'll do it"—make the mountain road undrivable. What would be hazardous enough for a flat, straight road was a death wish on a sloping, curving one that ascended four thousand feet.

"The flight doesn't leave until two days from now," Rapunzel pointed out. "And we still have power. There's no need to freak out. It's kind of pretty. Very picturesque."

Flynn softened a bit, as he often did whenever her artist's eye saw something that he couldn't immediately see. "All right," he said. "You want to go outside? Wear that new coat, perhaps?"

"Sure," she said, finishing her hot cappuccino. "There's still snow underneath."

They headed up to their bedroom to put on their coats and gloves. When they came out, they were joined by the Kings at the end of the hallway, who were also dressed for the outdoors. The four of them went down the stairs and through the door that led directly outside.

"Watch out," Flynn said. He took the guardrail in one hand and grabbed Rapunzel around the waist with the other. The steps were icy. However, no one fell, and as soon as they were on hard ground, their boots crunched through the top layer of ice, finding traction in the snow underneath.

Rapunzel darted away from Flynn, bent down, and scooped up a handful of snow. She immediately began shaping it into a ball. His eyes widened at the sight, and he began to arm himself at once.

"Mutually Assured Destruction, Rapunzel," he called out. She glanced up and saw him licking down a large snowball.

"You wouldn't dare." She put a hand over her stomach, on which the buttoned coat only _just _fit, and glared defiantly at him.

He scooped up another layer of snow and patted it on, creating an iceball. "Perhaps not," he agreed—and immediately launched the iceball at Mrs. King. It caught her on the upper arm and broke apart at once. The ice coating was only near the surface, after all.

"Oh no you didn't!" Rapunzel exclaimed. She hurled her snowball right at him, catching him in the face with it.

The Kings themselves retaliated as well, pelting him with small, quickly made snowballs, but he soon learned how to avoid getting hit in the face—and it didn't seem to bother him to be hit anywhere else. He bent down and made another large snowball, an ordinary soft one, which he sent at Rapunzel's face. Clumps of snow tumbled beneath her coat.

She shrieked from the cold and stormed through the crossfire to where he was building another snowball. He smirked as she reached him and deposited it on top of her head. She shook her head, knocking most of the snow out of her hair, and pulled him down into a large snowdrift.

"Victory!" she called to her grandparents as she knocked over the accumulated snow surrounding him, burying him in it.

They laughed and headed over to where Rapunzel and Flynn were. He broke through the snow and stood up, dusting himself off. She laughed as they began to head back to the house. Everyone was now wet, cold, and snow-covered.

Rapunzel and Mrs. King were a few steps ahead of Mr. King and Flynn. Rapunzel was feeling too cheerful to remember that the steps were icy, and when she stepped on the first one, she lost her footing.

A shriek of terror escaped her mouth as she realized it, and she would have fallen face-forward on the wooden steps if her grandmother had not caught her.

Flynn's heart stood still for the moment when he was sure she was going to fall forward across the stairs—the sharp corners pushing right up into her burgeoning abdomen—and it would have—would have—

He rushed ahead of Mr. King, reaching her just as the awareness of what had almost happened hit her and she started to shake in her grandmother's grip.

"Thank you," he gasped to the older woman.

Mrs. King gazed back at him, green eyes so like Rapunzel's now wide with consciousness. "Let's all get inside," she said abruptly. "We shouldn't be out here. My husband has a walking stick, and Rapunzel, of course..." She trailed off. "Playing in the snow is one thing, but _ice _is..."

"Exactly," Flynn agreed. He took Rapunzel firmly in hand and helped her up the stairs.

Once inside, they took off their sodden coats, gloves, and boots, and then piled into the living room. Flynn seized the remote and turned on the large TV, immediately finding the Weather Channel. It happened to be giving a local forecast.

"...And over the next two days, expect a warm-up to about 40 degrees," the forecaster was saying.

Flynn looked contented at that. "That's good," he said.

Rapunzel was still shaking from the post-adrenaline rush. He noticed it and pulled her close to him. "You need to relax," he said.

"But what almost happened out there..."

He shuddered. It was a horrible thing to think of. Not only would she probably have lost the baby in that spill, but at six months, it would have been a danger to her too—and they were stuck on top of this ice-covered mountain with no way to drive down. He pushed the thought out of his mind at once. "I know, but thank God—and your grandmother—that it didn't, so don't stress about it." An idea suddenly occurred to him, and a wicked smile came over his face. "Hey, I've got a thought. This could be a perfect opportunity to use that hot tub upstairs..."

* * *

**End Notes:** Part Two of this will post in a few days, before Christmas, definitely.

All I'm going to say about Part Two is this. I did indeed get stranded in a house on a snow-covered mountain with a few other people once. We were not deceived by forecasts of above-freezing temperatures that were meant for the _valley, _but we didn't have Internet access (this was several years ago) and we _were _frustrated that there were no televised forecasts for higher elevations...

**Edit:** Slight change to the Christmas gift-opening scene. Apparently I wrote in _Bad Influence_ that Flynn _did _try to work on his old stuff, but it was only one mention. I have decided that he changed his mind, not at all an uncommon thing to happen in the early stages of writing. The gift scene now reflects this, though.


	14. Cabin Fever, Part Two

**Bonus Scene: Cabin Fever, Part Two**

* * *

**New scene!**

**Prompt from Eugene's Blondie:** "Since the season is in full swing, you think we could get a story set at Christmas?"

**Notes:** Yes, I promise this really did happen to me... and _some_ of the details of this chapter also have real-life analogues. The overall theme of gradually going nuts is one of these things. I can laugh about it now, so enjoy! **Occurs between chapter 21 and the epilogue. Rated soft T.**

* * *

**Day Four, December 27.**

Rapunzel wondered what Flynn was doing when she woke up the next morning to an empty bed. It was unlike him to get up without playfully nudging her awake—unless she had a reason to be tired and left to sleep, which she didn't. She trudged to the closet and put on some loose, casual clothes before going downstairs.

He was sitting at the breakfast table, black coffee and one of Mrs. King's strudel bites in hand, smiling just a bit too broadly. It was almost a manic smile, and Rapunzel knew that it did not mean he was happy.

"Isn't that just wonderful?" he said, keeping the manic smile on his face as he gestured at the window.

Rapunzel looked outside. Unless she was very mistaken, there appeared to be a fresh coating of snow on top of what had already fallen, melted, and refrozen. But that meant—

"Rapunzel, he is fixated on the fact that the snippet of forecast he heard yesterday evidently referred to the valley, and that at _this _elevation, well, you can see for yourself," Mrs. King explained patiently.

Rapunzel fixed herself a cup of coffee the way she liked it and sat down for breakfast. "Well," she said, at a loss for words. "I don't really know what to say. There's nothing any of us can do about the weather."

"The flight leaves tomorrow at three," Flynn said, still smiling.

"Are the tickets refundable?" she asked.

"Yes, but..."

"But what?"

He sighed. "But nothing, I suppose. If your job doesn't need you back immediately, then what's the harm in staying on this mountain? Why not stay through January?"

His tone was not sarcastic, but rather a bit giddy. It disturbed Rapunzel, but she chose to treat it as if he _had _uttered the comment in an annoyed sarcastic tone. "Oh, come off it. You don't even know if we'll have to cancel. And I don't think it particularly matters if 'my job needs me back' if we can't get off safely. We have e-mail. I'll just e-mail my boss if it looks like we'll be delayed." She sipped her coffee. "You need to chill, Flynn. You've been freaking out about ice and snow ever since we got here."

He downed the remainder of his coffee and set the mug down hard on the table. "Perhaps you're right," he agreed as he stood up. He pushed his chair up and went for his coat and boots, now dry. "I'm going to go outside and get some fresh air. And _chill."_

"Literally! Be careful," Rapunzel said.

He smiled and tousled her hair as he put on his coat. "Got my phone. Back in an hour or less."

"Back? What are you going to do?"

He was headed for the door that led to the stairs down to the garage exit. "I'm going to hike down it a bit and see just what the road _is _like."

"Well, definitely be careful, then!"

He grinned and disappeared down the stairs. Rapunzel turned to her grandparents and continued her breakfast.

"Let him," Mrs. King urged. "Maybe he'll get it out of his system this way."

"Cabin fever," Mr. King observed. "Some people don't cope well with being confined... or being in a situation where they feel that they have no control..."

Rapunzel winced. "I'm... not overly fond of either thing myself, actually," she said.

The Kings both winced as well. "I'm sorry," Mr. King said at once. "I didn't think of... gosh, I'm sorry."

She smiled weakly. "It's all right. There is a difference between being confined by circumstances—forces of nature or what have you—and being confined at the hands of a person. Nobody did this _to _us, so I'm not going to let it bother me much."

Mr. King breathed a sigh of relief. "That's a good point," he said. "I'm not sure he feels the same way, though."

"Flynn has always wanted to feel in control of everything about his environment," she agreed. "But he doesn't do dumb things. If he comes back up saying the road is still not drivable, then he _won't_ want to risk driving it."

Mrs. King chimed in. "Oh, definitely not after what he said when we first got here about how he wouldn't have wanted to risk the drive up in falling snow. But... there are other things that can happen."

* * *

"Well," Flynn said cheerfully, hanging up his coat, "we're not getting anywhere in that." He went into the living room and headed over to the media shelf to look at the assortment of movies that the Kings kept there.

Suddenly the TV popped on. Flynn turned aside and glanced at the leather couch. Mr. King was seated there, and he had just turned the set on with the remote. It was on the Weather Channel still, and the older man began to watch it.

"Do you want to watch that?" Flynn asked.

"Yes. Why?"

"Don't see the point, myself. They're not going to talk about this elevation, and it'll just annoy me to see them predicting warm temperatures near the valley."

Mr. King raised an eyebrow. "They might cover this elevation. You can't know unless you watch."

"I was looking for a movie to put on," Flynn said. "There's a TV in your bedroom."

Mr. King thought about it. "Okay," he said, reaching into his pocket. He took out his billfold and withdrew a quarter. "Call it."

Flynn chuckled. "Heads."

Mr. King flipped the coin, and it landed on the floor—heads up. Flynn grinned and wordlessly went back to the media cabinet as Mr. King got up.

Rapunzel and Mrs. King had been observing the proceedings without comment. After the coin toss, Mrs. King turned to her granddaughter.

"I think it's getting to them," she said.

"What, the fact that they would actually settle a disagreement like that?"

"Yes, that they would mutually decide on it and accept the outcome."

"I heard that," Flynn called as he selected a movie from the cabinet.

"Good. I meant for you to," Rapunzel called back.

He laughed. "Want to watch this with me?" He held up the movie.

Rapunzel shrugged. "Sure."

Mrs. King finished her drink and went upstairs to watch the weather with her husband. After the movie was over, Flynn went to the media cabinet to select another one, but Rapunzel did not want to watch for another two hours. She went upstairs as well to work on her computer.

* * *

**Day Five, December 28.**

Rapunzel put the suitcase into the Kings' SUV and climbed in the vehicle herself. She sat down next to Flynn and buckled her seatbelt as her grandmother got behind the wheel.

"If I start to lose control, I'm going to stop the car immediately," she warned as she cranked it.

The SUV revved and began to slowly back out of the garage and onto the icy driveway. Yet more snow had fallen overnight, and early that morning, Flynn and Mrs. King had gone outside to attempt to scrape out a path. He had grave doubts that they were going to get down the mountain, but she still wanted to try.

The gravel of the driveway provided traction for the wheels, and the vehicle slowly edged away from the house and toward the road. Ending at the Kings' house, it was also gravel for the last couple hundred vertical feet, though below that it was paved. Flynn had not hiked down the mountain to that point, but the family's hope was that temperatures would be a bit warmer at the elevations where it was paved.

The vehicle eased onto the road. The friction of the rough surface kept it from skidding, though even the gravel was encased in ice underneath the snow. Rapunzel's heart was pounding with anxiety, and she held her breath and avoided looking out the window.

After what seemed like forever, the SUV stopped. Rapunzel's heart sank. "What's wrong?" she asked her grandmother.

"I don't like the look of the road," Mrs. King replied tightly.

Rapunzel peered out the front windshield. Ahead of them, the paved section of the road began. But there was something strange about the road...

"I'm getting out," Flynn announced, unbuckling his belt. "That looks like solid white ice to me, not snow. I'm going to check it out." He opened the door and got out of the van before anyone could say a word.

Rapunzel watched him walk carefully over to where the paved road began. Hesitantly he put out a foot. She winced as he almost lost his footing. The road was completely slick. He stood there for a moment, back turned to the SUV, before turning around and getting back in. His face was grim.

"You can get out yourself and try walking on it, but I wouldn't drive on it for anything," he said. "I wouldn't even drive on that if it were flat."

Mrs. King put the van in park and got out to test the road as well. In a bit she returned to the vehicle looking equally grim.

"He's right," she said. "It's just too dangerous."

Rapunzel sighed. She was looking forward to getting back home... but it seemed that this wouldn't happen today. And now—

"Can we get the van back up the mountain?" she asked concernedly.

Mrs. King winced. "I hope so. We sure can't get down it yet." She tried to back the car up to turn it around—

–And then something horrifying happened. The wheels began to spin, and the car started sliding off the road, toward the ditch that hugged the mountain.

On the other side of the road was a railing, a two- or three-foot tree line on the other side, and beyond that—the drop. The railing and trees would stop a fatal descent if the car had begun to slide in that direction, but no one wanted to wind up in the ditch on the other side either. That was where the SUV seemed to be headed, though. Rapunzel's palms were covered in sweat. Flynn, noticing her anxiety, grabbed her and began to caress and massage her, but she could tell that he was just as nervous as she was. Mrs. King twisted the steering wheel and put the car in a lower gear, trying to keep it from going in the ditch. The front side of the car went off the road. Mrs. King threw the parking brake—and that, at last, stopped the slide.

Everyone in the vehicle was silent for a bit. Then Mrs. King spoke.

"Well," she said in a bit of affected cheerfulness, "does anyone want me to try to turn around again?"

No one spoke. Flynn reached for the handle of his suitcase and slung his messenger bag over his shoulder. "I think we're going to end up ditching the van if you do," he replied. "I say we leave it here and walk back up the path. Does anyone else use this stretch of road?"

"No, everyone else who lives on this mountain is at a lower elevation. No one has any reason to use it except people going to and from our cabin."

"You know," Rapunzel remarked, "I made a trip down a mountain once. It was when I ran away from my mother. I hiked down a mountain on foot." She turned to Flynn, green eyes wide with inspiration. "And Flynn used to go hiking in the Appalachians by himself as a boy. We both have experience with it—"

"In the _summer,"_ Flynn said. "You hiked in the middle of summer, as did I. This is a completely different situation, as you'll see when we have to walk back up to the cabin." He opened the door and stepped out. "Come on. We might as well get started." He reached out a hand to her and helped her out of the car.

The air was bitingly cold. Grimly they gathered up their belongings and piled out of the van, making sure to lock it behind them as they slowly trudged up the gravel road. As Flynn had predicted, it did not take long for Rapunzel to become tired in the cold. She remembered her pregnancy and realized that he was right; if it was this tiring to make the comparatively short trip back to the cabin, it would have been a truly horrible idea to try to go down the mountain on foot. They were stuck in the cabin until the road became drivable.

* * *

Back in the cabin, Flynn took his phone out of his messenger bag and stalked away from the group to make the call to the airline to cancel the tickets. Once he got off the phone, he went back into the living room, took a movie from the media cabinet, and sat down in front of the TV again. The meaning was clear—the television was still his. Mr. and Mrs. King took the point and walked up the stairs to their own bedroom. Flynn stretched his arms and legs and reached for the remote to turn on his movie.

Rapunzel watched out the corner of her eye as she made herself a sandwich in the kitchen. "Flynn," she said once the movie began, "didn't you watch that movie yesterday?"

He laughed. "What difference does it make? You didn't watch it when I put it on yesterday, so it shouldn't bother you if I want to see it again."

"It doesn't _bother _me..."

"Then why don't you come and watch it with me?"

_Oh, why not?_ Rapunzel asked herself. She _hadn't _seen the movie, _National Treasure,_ before. She picked up her sandwich, poured herself some tea, and brought the snack into the living room. She sat down next to him and began to nibble on the sandwich as the movie started.

As the movie progressed, she could not help but wonder just why exactly he had developed a sudden interest in _this _movie, a movie about a brilliant DC-area rogue who decided to steal the Declaration of Independence to protect it from criminals—and look for encoded information in the document. The premise was absurd, of course, pure fun, but still...

"Flynn," she began hesitantly as the characters broke into the National Archives, "erm... don't get any ideas, please."

He laughed. "Oh, Rapunzel, there is nothing for you to worry about. The most valuable possession in Washington, DC is one I could get perfectly legally if I wanted. It's not a physical artifact. I used to have it, you know, and who knows? Maybe I'll want it again someday." As her expression turned to obvious surprise and some disapproval, he winked at her and pulled her close, hugging her and throwing an arm around her.

The movie continued, with Rapunzel not moving away from Flynn the whole time. She loved the feeling of his arms around her, and she supposed there was something kind of cozy about being snowed in. She snuggled close to him and watched the movie. It was entertaining, a decent date movie—if this were a date.

Once the movie ended, he picked up the remote, returned to the main menu, and pressed Play again.

"Are you serious?" Rapunzel asked. She had been stretching and preparing to get up.

He shrugged. "Why not? What else is there to do?"

"We could _watch _another movie, if nothing else..."

"I don't want to." The movie started again.

Rapunzel gazed at him in amazement. Then, without a word, she got up, went to the bedroom, and came back down with her laptop. "I want to sit here with you," she said, "but—"

"But you'd rather spend two hours reading banal things on the Internet?"

She glared at him. "Was that necessary?"

"Sorry," he apologized. "It wasn't."

She snuggled up against him again and turned on the computer as the movie began to play once more, but she quickly found that the background noise was a distraction. Besides, there was the stark realization that he was correct and so much material online _was _banal. Sighing, she closed the laptop. The National Archives break-in sequence was playing again, and she thought back to the joking conversation they'd had the last time.

"Flynn, did you mean what you said before about 'maybe wanting it again someday'—by which I assume you meant influence? Or was it just a joke?"

He turned to her with a raised eyebrow. "Not altogether," he said. "You know I became unhappy with it because of the kind of work I had to do and the fact that the clients were only interested in abusing the system for their own purposes. But I still think _some _people do get to lobby for things that would be good, rather than just trying to manipulate the system for money and power... and if the opportunity ever arose..." He trailed off. "I like being a writer for now, though." He smiled reassuringly and squeezed her.

She managed to smile back at him.

* * *

**Day Six, December 29.**

"Well, no new snow fell last night," Flynn observed over breakfast. "It was crystal clear and starry. That's the good news. The bad news—"

"—is that crystal clear starry nights in winter usually mean damn cold temperatures," Mr. King supplied. "So not a bit of this stuff melted."

"Not a bit," Flynn agreed as he downed his coffee. "I've already been out there."

"At least the van isn't buried beneath snow, since nothing new fell," Mrs. King said.

"That's true," Flynn agreed. "And it wasn't cold enough to freeze any of the fluids in it."

"Not even close," said Mr. King.

Rapunzel started laughing. This was just ridiculous—the whole situation. She and Flynn should have been in Washington, the Kings in their regular house in suburban Denver, by last night, but here they were on top of this mountain still. They weren't going to get off it today either. And the three others were now discussing specific details of the situation in casual, factual tones, repeating and confirming what each other said. It was just too much for her all of a sudden, and she found that she could not stop laughing.

Her grandmother came over and thumped her on the back. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself.

"Are you all right?" the older woman asked.

Rapunzel finally stopped laughing. She took another deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm fine," she said. "It was just hilariously funny all of a sudden. I don't even know why."

"It's a reaction to _this,"_ Mrs. King said. "We all need to find something to do today—something _different,"_ she added pointedly as Flynn headed over to the Blu-ray player in the living room to watch "his" movie for the fourth time in three days.

"No one but Rapunzel watched this with me—" he began to object, but Mr. King cut in.

"Flynn, if you put that on again, I swear to you, I will take it and chuck it over the side of the mountain, and then I will put the TV on C-SPAN and make you watch _it_ all day."

"_No!"_ Mrs. King exclaimed. "Honestly—"

Flynn smirked. "Sorry, 'Senator,' but even your wife doesn't want to watch _that."_

"I certainly don't, but do find a different movie to watch. Let Rapunzel pick."

Flynn thought about that for a moment and decided it was fair. He turned around to ask her, but she was not downstairs. He looked up, past the railing that was directly above the couch, and caught sight of her walking into the bedroom on the uppermost floor. "Rapunzel!" he called.

"I'm going to work on a craft!" she called back.

Flynn turned to the Kings. "Well, so much for that." He shelved the movie and turned to get his coat. "I'm going to go back outside and walk. Don't chuck the movie over the side of the mountain, please." The last comment was stated in a deadpan tone, and the Kings could not tell if it was a joke or not. They exchanged unsure looks before sitting down on the couch.

They had put on an older movie, one that they had seen on many dates when they were younger, when the first paper snowflake settled on Mrs. King's silver hair.

She did not seem to feel it. If they had been paying attention, the Kings would have heard a small, vaguely disappointed sigh before the next paper snowflake drifted down. This one landed on Mr. King's shoulder, and they _did _notice it.

Mrs. King picked it up gingerly. It was a very delicate one, far more than the usual fairly bulky and solid paper snowflakes one might see. Mr. King then noticed that she had one on top of her head.

A giggle came from above, and a third one fluttered gracefully down before resting on the seat next to them.

They looked up. Rapunzel was seated on the floor above them, a small pile of the snowflakes next to her as she dropped them down. She was beaming.

At this moment, Flynn's footsteps sounded up the stairs from the garage level. He entered the main room and announced, without any fanfare, "I checked on the van, and it's all right. No wild animals got into it."

When the Kings did not reply, he gazed up at Rapunzel, who had yet another paper snowflake in hand, about to drop it over the railing. "Rapunzel, what are you doing?"

"It's funny!" she exclaimed. "Snow—we've been snowed in, and still are, so I thought, why not go with it? So I started making paper snowflakes and dropping them over the side."

He stared hard at her, unable to think of anything to say in response.

Mr. King broke the silence by clearing his throat. "Um, Flynn—you said that the van was fine, and nothing got into it."

"Correct."

"What about the road?"

"Same as before, I'd say. Why?"

"Well, a thought suddenly occurred to me about clearing it."

Rapunzel leaped up and bounded down the stairs before he could continue. "Really?" she exclaimed excitedly. "Is there equipment around here that Flynn and I didn't know about?"

"No—it was something else," the older man said. He paused the movie. "I was thinking—what if we all got a boulder covered in snow and rolled it down the path?"

Dead silence met this suggestion.

He tried to explain further. "The idea is that it would pick up snow and mash through ice, clearing out the road for us."

Still no one responded. Stares met him.

Finally Flynn spoke up. "Uh—what gave you that idea?" He gazed at the television. "Have you been watching old cartoons?"

"No, why?"

Flynn struggled with his words. He did not know how to explain that the "idea" was straight out of an old Wile E. Coyote cartoon without, well, saying exactly that. Mrs. King spoke up, to his relief.

"Because it's cartoonish!" she said. She shook her head. "What has happened to us? We're all _losing it._ Rapunzel is dropping paper snowflakes over the railing and laughing about it... Flynn watches the same movie several times and then wanders around outside... and _you _make suggestions about rolling boulders down the mountain to clear the road! Good Lord, we have to get off this mountain and _soon."_ She stopped the old movie and switched the channel to the weather immediately.

"If you're looking for a forecast for us, good luck," Flynn remarked. "They're only interested in populated areas."

"You brought a laptop, didn't you?" Mrs. King replied. "Go look us up, then!"

"She's right," Rapunzel chimed in. "You can get forecasts for any area. Actually, I'll do it myself." She scampered back up the stairs and came back down with her computer.

Once she searched for the point forecast for the mountain, her eyes lit up, and a smile formed on her face. Three other pairs of eyes that had been fixed upon her widened too.

"Well?" Flynn said anxiously. "Good news?"

"Excellent news," she said. "It's supposed to warm up to _45 _tomorrow, and _yes _Flynn, that _is _for this elevation. It'll be warmer than that farther down. Perfectly sunny. If we timed it carefully—left by late afternoon, after it's heated up and before the temperature starts to drop again, we might be able to get down." She turned to her grandparents. "Maybe we could stay in your regular house until we can get a flight?"

"Of course—_if_ we can get off the mountain," Mrs. King said immediately.

* * *

**Day Seven, December 30.**

Anxiety was almost palpable in the cabin, as the four members of the family waited for the predicted weather conditions to work their magic. All day long, Flynn and Rapunzel went outside, sticking a yardstick into a certain spot to measure the snow melt and checking the thermometer. The forecast was correct, at least; the temperature rose as predicted and the sun blared down on the snow, helping to burn it away. By mid-afternoon, the snow had turned filthy and sludgy throughout the yard, and icicles that had formed on the eaves were melting and falling off the roof, presenting a hazard to anyone who might walk under them. These signs were more than welcome to the family.

Unfortunately, the ice pack underneath the snow did not melt nearly as quickly. At four o'clock, Rapunzel checked the forecast once more on her computer and winced.

"Even with the ice and snow remaining, we really should try to get down today," she warned. "This says it's going to dip below freezing again tonight, which will only refreeze all this... but then after that, guess what?"

"More chances of snow?" Flynn guessed.

"Cloudiness tomorrow and cooler temperatures, and then in days to come, yes. If we don't get off this mountain today, I really don't know when we'll have another chance—and the _food _is going to run out eventually."

Flynn studied the forecast. At last he spoke. "She's right," he said to the Kings. "I think we have to try. Hopefully the ice on the paved part of the road will have melted at lower elevations. The road itself should have been heated up from the sun today..."

"Well," Mrs. King said, "if this is our last chance for a while, I agree. Let's get packed—again—and make a try of it."

Before long, they were packed up and trudging down the mountain to where the SUV was parked. Flynn put his bags into the vehicle and walked ahead to the paved road. It _looked _much clearer... He squinted. Yes, the thick layer of ice had been broken up. Now only patches of ice remained on the road. It would be treacherous, but the extent of it should decrease with altitude. He returned to the van and got in.

Mrs. King cranked the SUV and slowly, carefully, began the descent, never letting the car out of first gear. Her gaze was fixed upon the paved road ahead of them, as she tried to find the least icy spots.

It was a slow—excruciatingly slow—drive down the road, and the sun began to set as a beautiful orange fireball before they were even halfway down. Whatever amount of melting that had occurred would be the limit of it; after this point, temperatures would start to drop again. But at last, the icy patches on the road vanished altogether, and only isolated spots of snow in shaded areas remained visible on the side of the road. No one in the car wanted to say it; it felt almost like a jinx, but the mood lightened nonetheless. Mrs. King changed gears and began to speed up her descent.

When the twisting mountain road made its final curve and intersected with a highway at the foot of the mountain, everyone inside (except for Mrs. King) cheered. Rapunzel beamed and squeezed Flynn's hand.

"Unbelievable," he remarked as they got on the highway. Not a bit of snow remained here. "To think that we would have been stuck in that cabin for who knows how long if we hadn't decided to chance this."

"Don't even say it," Rapunzel said at once. "Don't even _say_ it. Next Christmas, we are doing _something else._ I am not going up that mountain in winter again if there is even a one percent chance of snow in the forecast."

Flynn laughed. "Well, look at it this way. We'll have a story to tell when we get back. It should be quite chilling, too. DC residents think four inches of snow is reason to go into full emergency mode. Anyone we tell will think we're rugged survivors. People will be in awe."

Rapunzel snorted with laughter. "That's the reason you want to talk about this? I should have known."

He smirked. "Why shouldn't we talk about it? We _are _survivors." He squeezed her affectionately. "I'll book tickets as soon as we get to your grandparents' valley house."

"Which won't be long," Mrs. King intoned. She smiled in the rear-view mirror. "I know this wasn't an ideal trip, but I hope the two of you weren't completely miserable throughout it."

"Oh no," Rapunzel reassured her. "When we didn't think too hard about the _problem _aspect of it, it was kind of cozy. Everyone was warm... the house was really nice... and there's something kind of romantic about being snowed in."

"_Now_ you can say that," Flynn observed.

"I sure can, just like _you _can consider it perfectly normal to watch the same movie over and over when you're snowed in. Perceptions change."

He smiled wryly. "I guess that's a valid point. I'm still glad to be off, though."

The others immediately chimed in with agreement, and the conversation fell silent as the van continued down the highway. Rapunzel and Flynn gazed out the window. The stars glittered brightly overhead. _What a welcome sight,_ Rapunzel thought. She glanced at Flynn, who had a similarly relieved and grateful look on his face. Their eyes met, and though neither of them said it, they realized that they were both thinking the same thing.

* * *

**End Notes:** Thinking of _Bad Influence _DC Flynn in a _National Treasure _crossover is a guilty pleasure of mine. (Just think about it. Pulling off a theft no one thought possible of a vastly significant national artifact? Yep.) I have zero intention of _writing _such a crossover, so this is my nod to the idea. Also, the movie-watching scene bridges a gap between _Bad Influence _and "Safe Place," foreshadowing Flynn's resurgent ambition that starts off the latter piece.


	15. Third Party

**Bonus Scene: Third Party**

* * *

**Prompt from an anonymous reader:** "Bad Influence pregnancy smut where Flynn is afraid of hurting the baby, but only if you think that's consistent with BadInfluence!Flynn."

**Scene Notes:** I don't write hurt/comfort sex. It's something I simply cannot sexualize in my mind. I, personally, associate h/c with hugs, cuddles, and perhaps chaste kisses, not amorous touching and certainly not sex. Sweet and gentle sex is also difficult for me to write for Rapunzel and Flynn except—for obvious reasons—as a first-time scenario, or the first time _after_ they have had a baby. Some situation in which they have a _need _to be slow and careful. Going off their personalities in the film, I think that on other occasions, they would be happy and enthusiastic about being intimate together. They're used to getting wild under the sheets, but this _is _a situation where they need to be careful, so now they must remember to keep a _lot_ more control over themselves than they are accustomed to. But rather than Flynn slowing down and being extra solicitous of her during the deed, well... I've done something else here. **Occurs between chapter 21 and the epilogue. Rated M.**

* * *

Rapunzel stretched out her legs on the comfortable king-sized bed, observing the large bulge in her midsection beneath the clingy fabric of her nightie. She was almost seven months along, and she was definitely feeling tired from the extra weight these days. She had not put on too much; her figure was not that different except for the addition of the bump itself, but it still felt good to sit down on the bed, stretch, and take the weight off her legs.

It also felt good—in a different way—to admire the bump from a relaxed position, to place a hand over it, maybe feel the occasional kick, and grow cozily warm all over at the thought of it all. When she thought _too _hard about it, she still became afraid; this was a bigger responsibility than anything she had ever had in her life. However, after almost half a year of knowing about it, she had become used to the idea, and she had to acknowledge that there was something really thrilling about the thought of carrying _his _child—her sweet, sexy husband.

Actually, she thought, it didn't just give her an _emotional_ thrill. It was a physical one too. It was strange to her in a way, but for a while now, she had found it extremely arousing to think about her condition and—especially—the fact that she was going to have a baby with _him._ It was a new level of closeness to him, even when he wasn't physically present.

She smiled contentedly as her hand passed over the bump, her smooth gold ring gleaming in the dim light. She didn't wear her engagement ring to bed; the diamond setting could scratch, but she did wear _this _ring—and the sight of it, in conjunction with the present state of her thoughts, broadened her smile. Flynn would be out of the shower very soon; the water had been off for several minutes, and the hair dryer had just gone silent. He wouldn't have much else to do. He had the gift of low-maintenance looks, rarely having to do much more than shave, comb his hair, and lightly spritz it the next morning, so he did not usually stay long in the bathroom after his shower. She found herself eagerly anticipating his return; her musings had quickly put her "in the mood."

The door to the bathroom opened and he stepped out in his robe and pajama pants, smoothing his freshly dried hair. He glanced at her, sprawled out on the bed, and smiled as he sat down. The mattress shifted with his weight, and she felt herself sliding towards him as he scooted close to her.

He planted a light kiss on her cheek and placed an arm around her waist, sending a warm tingle all over her. "What've you been thinking about?" he asked.

"What do you think?" she replied, looking meaningfully at him.

His gaze dropped to her lower abdomen, following her own. Then he glanced back up at her. "Ah, of course." He placed a hand over the bump and kept it there, silently smiling.

As sweet as the gesture was, Rapunzel was still impatient. _Her _thoughts had already moved past sweetness and chaste touches. She wanted him.

"It's really hot to think about carrying your baby," she blurted out, feeling her face flush with embarrassment at the confession, but only for a moment.

She watched as he raised an eyebrow, his eyes grew wider, and his smile turned into an amused smirk. A chuckle escaped him. "You think so?" he said, grinning.

She smiled crookedly back at him, feeling proud of herself. "I do."

He burst into a toothy smile, and before she could react, pushed her down on the pillow. He leaned across her, putting an elbow on the pillow on either side of her head and propping himself up as he peered down at her. "Funny," he breathed, "but I was just thinking about how hot _you _look with this bump... and knowing I caused it," he finished with a wicked smirk.

"Not intentionally," she teased.

"How do you know that?" he asked, winking.

She raised an eyebrow. "Because you were surprised when I first told you about it?"

He smirked and bent down to kiss her, then drew back again. "You know," he said, "I agree it wasn't _planned,_ but to be honest with you, I _did _know that it could happen if we didn't try to prevent it... and I _did _want it to."

"That early in our relationship?" she asked skeptically.

"I knew I was in love with you a month after we met," he said. "You took a bit longer. But yeah... after we finally got together, it didn't take me long to want this. Why should it? I wanted a family... and I wanted _you._ And yes, it kind of was intentional. Maybe not going the extra mile to _try _to make it happen, but also not trying to stop it." He smirked again.

The cocky frankness of his confession, and clear pride in his tone, made her feel playfully defiant even as it also made her want him more. "Is that so?" she said huffily.

"It is." His tone was utterly unashamed.

"_Hmph,"_ she harrumphed. She didn't know what to say—this didn't make her angry, far from it, but she didn't want _him _to know that she was perfectly okay with what he had said... and she definitely didn't want him to know that it turned her on more to hear him so boastful.

Unfortunately for her, her indignant huffing did not fool him. He laughed. "Never play poker, Rapunzel. You'll get wiped out every time."

"And what is _that _supposed to mean?" she said.

"It means..." He paused, staring greedily at her for a moment. "It means that I know you like what I said," he hissed, suddenly grabbing the hem of her nightgown and pulling the garment up as he rolled his lower body on top of her. Her eyes popped wide open as she felt the bulge of his hardness. It amazed her that he was in this condition already—or had he been ready for her before he even left the shower? She didn't care, though; what mattered was that he was as ready as she was. All that remained was to get their nightclothes off, and he was at work on that. She raised her arms and let him remove the thin nightie. He tossed it to the other side of the bed, leaving her completely nude.

He was about to untie his own robe when suddenly he stopped cold and backed off, rolling off her. A concerned look came over his face, and he leaned over her bump and placed a hand gently on it again. "Are you all right?" he asked. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

She was almost too disappointed—and frustrated—to respond. "I'm fine," she said, staring at him, desperation in her words. "Keep going."

He gazed at her bump. "It's almost seven months," he said. "I don't want to hurt her. I shouldn't be so rough."

"You weren't rough," she protested. "Please, continue."

He hesitated for a moment, but his need was becoming too great to ignore as well. He untied his pajama robe, set it down, and loosened the drawstring of his pants, carefully easing them over his erection. She breathed in at the sight of his body, wanting to feel him pressed against her, wishing he would get on with this.

He grinned at her as he set down his pants, his gaze darting admiringly over her form. When their eyes met, his breath caught in his chest. He breathed deeply. "You really are beautiful," he murmured as he eased himself on top of her again, "and I'm so glad you haven't been self-conscious about your figure." He kissed her cheek, and his hand found its way to her bump again.

She smiled and gazed at him flirtatiously from beneath her eyelashes. "I haven't," she agreed, "and partly it's because I have this great guy who knows how a pregnant woman is naturally going to look and doesn't hold it against her."

He looked seriously at her. "More than that," he said. "Who finds it _hot _when it's his wife and his kid."

They gazed at each other for another moment before it was finally too much to take. His breath hitched in his chest, and he looked down, breaking their gaze. He pulled back and opened her legs, positioning himself between them, then moved his hands to her hips. She closed her eyes briefly and breathed in, expecting him to fill her any moment now. She wanted it, and he did too. _So what is he waiting for?_ she thought, opening her eyes.

He was staring at her bump, his features twisted into a look of anxiety. She wondered why for a moment before remembering. A dreadful thought crossed her mind. Was he going to call it off? Deny both of them because he was afraid of his own strength?

He breathed deeply and blinked. Then, to her absolute dismay, he drew back from her, gently climbing over her leg, and collapsed on his back next to her. Her face fell.

"Flynn, you get right back where you were!" she cried. She reached out and grabbed at his waist, trying to pull him back onto her. "You sweet, protective, over-cautious son of a... You can't do this! We both need this—"

"Get on top," he grunted, interrupting her pleas.

She stopped ranting and stared at him. "What?"

"Get on top of me or I'll pick you up and put you there myself." He managed a smirk once more.

She continued to stare at him as a grin quickly formed on her face. She was not usually on top, but she had been before, and it was fun... besides, the main thing now was to satisfy herself and him. Relieved that he wasn't backing out, and eager to finally do this, she sat up, swung a leg around his waist, and straddled him, positioning herself on his tip.

She bent over him and peered down at his face. "I _ought _to torment you the way you've been tormenting me," she said.

"You won't, though," he purred, still smirking at her.

"And I ought to wipe that smirk right off your face."

"You _will _do that," he conceded.

She grinned at him. "You're right," she said as she slid down, _finally_ taking him in, feeling the sweet fullness that she had been longing for ever since she got into bed.

He exhaled a sigh of relief and lunged forward to hold her waist. It felt so good for his hands to be there, she thought... large and warm and dry... She met his eyes, which exuded need and desperation now that he could feel her all around him. The cocky smirk was indeed gone from his face, replaced by a pleading look. He was right, she thought—she wasn't going to torment him. Not when they both needed this. She leaned forward, placed her palms on his chest to brace herself, and began to move over him.

Time and the world seemed to slip away beneath them as they picked up a rhythm, leaving nothing to their awareness but each other. Rapunzel found herself really enjoying being in control of their movements. She had been unwilling to assume this position for a while after their relationship had become physical, because she was unsure if she would know what to do if she were put in control... but experience with him really had been the best teacher, and that worry was long gone.

His fingers dug into her waist and hips as she slid back and forth and he bucked upward. She loved his firm, possessive grip, a kind of physical confirmation that he liked what she was doing and wanted to keep her in place so she could continue.

She drew closer and closer to her peak until at last, she could do nothing but gasp raggedly and try to keep her eyes from squinting shut by focusing on his equally desperate facial expression. He was so close to coming undone, and seeing him like that brought another heated gasp from her. She was very close too, and the thought crossed her mind that she could send herself over the edge with her own hand. Bracing herself against him now with only her left hand, she brought her right down and tried to finish the job. It didn't work. She had to have _his _touch, _his _hand.

He wasn't fully aware anymore of what she needed him to do... and she was no longer able to tell him in words, but she could still tell him with actions. She could still fumblingly grasp his left hand, pull it away from her waist, and watch as he became aware of it and figure out what she was trying to do. Together they managed to slip his hand between her legs, right where it needed to be. The slightest brush of his fingers against her center started the thrilling shiver... and then he pressed lightly, sending her mercifully over the edge.

A half-moan, half-shriek escaped her as the shudder traveled repeatedly up and down her body. He let out a gasp and bucked hard into her, and she was vaguely aware of his climax as she began to come down from her own. They gripped each other tightly, keeping each other firmly in place, until she finally felt him start to become soft and gently climbed off him to collapse on her back next to him. He grabbed her hand as she fell onto the pillows, squeezing it, making both of them feel that even though they were no longer intimately joined, they were still close and connected. They breathed heavily side by side, getting as close as they could without either lying on top of the other.

Flynn was the first to be able to speak again. "That was good," he managed to gasp out.

She gently leaned over to peck him on the cheek. "Yeah... you could say that."

He turned his head and met her lips with his, sharing a light kiss. When it was over, he smiled. "And I think it proves we'll do just fine between now and the time she's born."

She grinned back and snuggled up close to him. Tiredness from the exertion was overtaking them both; their eyelids began to droop and the pace of their thoughts began to slow down. They would soon doze off... but not before he gently placed his hand over her bump once more.

* * *

**End Note:** I'd like to say something about their initial conversation. Back when I was writing _Bad Influence,_ I meant the pregnancy subplot to be a complete accident, something neither of them intended to happen on any level. However, after chapter 14 (when I first drop heavy hints that it's coming), one reviewer said that it seemed to her that he might _have _subconsciously intended it through his own inaction... and when I thought about it, I realized that it did seem that way. It would also be reasonable, I think, for a well-established person with no family to want to create one, especially after finding his/her life partner. In chapter 15, I have Rapunzel suspecting that he wanted it to happen... but I don't think I ever confirmed that he actually did, and that his slacking off about using protection was indeed an example of acting-through-inaction. I've confirmed it here.

**Responses to readers:** nikkibecket1997 – I'll see what I can come up with. It is a related but separate AU. If you haven't seen it, there is a piece on my Tumblr called "Compromised" that is set in that AU.


	16. Anxiety and Relief

**Bonus Scene: Anxiety and Relief**

* * *

**Prompt by fairytalelover6:** "How about a little drabble of fluffiness when Kate's born and Flynn sees her for the first time? :)"

**Reply to the guest reviewer: **"Do you still have the one shot of Flynn freaking out while Rapunzel is in labor that used to be on your tumblr?"

**Scene Notes:** I do indeed, and here it is. I've been posting these in something close to chronological order, and this one falls next in the characters' timeline. (That only refers to the existing scenes and prompts I filled quickly or on a time limit, such as the one for a holiday-themed piece. New prompts I haven't filled yet will be posted in any order.) It starts off less fluffy and more angsty, but that doesn't last, and it becomes fluffy. I'm sorry for any inaccuracies in the procedure; I have not watched a real-life birth take place. **Rated K+ for subject matter.**

* * *

Flynn downed the dregs of the hospital coffee that Max and Pascal had been bringing to him—and sipping themselves, though not as frequently as he—all evening and into the night. It was bad coffee, far too watery, but Starbucks had closed two hours ago, so Max and Pascal could no longer slip out of the hospital and bring back anything better. Determinedly Flynn shoved his napkin into the bottom of the empty wax paper cup and soaked up whatever remnants of coffee that he could not get out. He began peeling away the rim of the cup, uncurling the waxed paper.

He hadn't had this nervous habit since college, but it was something to do, at least. Something that he could focus at least a _part _of his mind—and his hands—upon. Otherwise he knew he would start to rend himself, to twist the doorknob till his fingers were bruised, to beat on the door itself until someone from the hospital staff sympathetically but firmly hauled him away. They'd already had to forcibly remove him from the room after he could not stop screaming, grabbing at the doctors to pull them away from his wife, and trying to hold on to her by the waist.

The grandparents—great-grandparents, if the baby survived—had been notified and had gotten on a flight out of Denver as soon as they could. They were en route now. Their love and support would be needed no matter what happened.

"It's all my fault," he groaned, staring into his half-shredded cup.

Pascal glanced up sympathetically. "No it isn't... it's not anyone's fault."

"But I'm responsible," he said bleakly. "I was careless and selfish and we should have talked about it first; she wasn't ready. And she was afraid of this too; _she had a dream about it,_ well something similar to it, Pascal, a nightmare where—"

"Stop," said Max in a firm tone, cutting off the torrent of anxieties. "Just—stop."

Flynn seemed surprised at being cut off, but he did stop talking.

"34 weeks, right?" Max continued. His voice wavered—none of them could hide their nervousness completely—but it still had a strength and confidence that calmed Flynn's nerves a little.

Flynn nodded. "But she's actually only 32 weeks _old."_ He didn't know why he was emphasizing the fetal rather than gestational age, since the lower number only increased his anxieties again, but it seemed more accurate. He would tell the cold truth, he thought with grim clarity, whether it was pleasant or not.

"There are plenty of preemies who survive at a younger age than that," Max said firmly. He put a hand on Flynn's back. "Before long, you'll get to see them both. So stop this regretful talk."

Flynn gazed up at him miserably. "You didn't see her," he moaned. His head sank, and his voice began to shake. "You didn't see her standing there, clutching her body, fluid pooling all over the floor, crying out to me." He crumpled to the floor and put his head between his knees, sobbing.

The other two men exchanged unhappy glances as they sat down on either side of him and put their arms around his shoulders for support.

"All I've ever wanted to do was protect her," Flynn choked. "And instead I've done something to her that's _hurt_ her, and now our child is at risk too." He put his head down again, staring at the floor in silence.

Max and Pascal did not know what to say. Max suddenly realized that his attempts to talk Flynn out of his anxiety were doomed to failure. The only thing that would truly ease his pain and worry was to be allowed back in that room—for the whole ordeal to be over. Sighing, they rested on the floor with Flynn between them, saying nothing, just waiting.

About half an hour later, the door opened at last. All three men leapt to their feet, though Flynn was the first. Max and Pascal stepped away as a nurse came out. She glanced at Flynn, and, noticing that he seemed calm (especially compared to the madman that they had had to remove from the room hours before), smiled faintly at him.

"Your wife wants to see you," the nurse said.

Flynn felt the blood drain from his face as he asked the question. "Is she okay—are they both—?"

"She's doing well," said the nurse, "and your daughter will need to be placed in an incubator in the neonate ICU soon and watched closely, but that's a precaution we take for all preemies; she is healthy for her age and should be fine too—"

These words were what he needed to hear, and as they registered in his brain, he seemed to unfreeze, the tension—well, some of it—uncoiling. A huge gasp of breath escaped him as he darted into the room.

Rapunzel lay on the bed in a thin hospital gown, holding a tiny bundle next to her chest. Her obstetrician smiled as he passed by, though he barely observed the doctors or nurses; his attention was on the bed. He reached the bedside and met Rapunzel's bright green eyes. A smile was on her face, which broadened at his presence.

Wordlessly he gazed upon the baby nursing at her breast. He had not exactly seen a _lot_ of babies, but he knew this was still the smallest one he had ever seen. Her skin was flushed and a soft fuzz of dark hair—_his hair,_ he couldn't help but think—covered her head. Though the baby was naked and Rapunzel did not have anything between the infant's front and her own skin, she had covered the baby's back with a soft white blanket, which seemed to make her look even smaller.

"She's so little," he said softly, kneeling beside the bed. Gingerly he reached out and stroked the child's head. His fingers were warm. "Katherine. Hey, sweetie." A smile formed on his face, and his eyes grew wet at the corners.

"She weighed four pounds and nine ounces," Rapunzel said, a faint trace of worry in her voice.

"Wow," he said huskily.

"They're going to have to put her in an incubator and watch her for a while," she continued. "Nothing's wrong—well, _wrong _wrong. She's where she ought to be in development. They just do it... to be sure." A tear trickled down Rapunzel's face.

"Hey, it's okay," he said as he wiped it away. It was hard for him to believe that he was comforting her, given what a nervous wreck he had been, but now that he had seen _her _calm and happy, and this baby—their daughter—breathing and nursing, he had felt his tension drain away, reverting him back to his usual provider/protector mode. But then a tear tricked down _his _face.

She glanced up at him, blinked her tears away, and laughed at the trickle on his cheek. "I know. I just... it's so confusing. I'm feeling so many things right now... I can't really explain it."

Flynn smiled indulgently. "I think I understand how you feel, though. Happy, and relieved, and yet I feel bad that she's going to have it a bit tougher for a while... I wouldn't have wanted that for her..." He gazed down at baby Katherine. "But at the same time, she's perfect as she is."

Rapunzel smiled. "That's it." She gazed up lovingly at him, then back down at the baby. "Wait. Can he hold her?" she asked as a nurse stopped by the bed. "He's not sick or anything."

The nurse nodded and smiled, and Rapunzel gently brought the baby away from her breast and held her out to him. Gingerly he took his daughter in his large hands, being very careful, as if he were holding a priceless piece of china. _Except more priceless than any artifact,_ he thought, cuddling Kate against his body. She seemed so light to him, so fragile, but her tiny chest was moving with the regularity of unhindered breathing, and her heart must be pumping well for her to have such strong, normal color.

He held her until she opened her eyes again—they were dark blue-gray, though he knew that would not last—and let out a wail. Chuckling, he handed her back to Rapunzel, who took her gently and nestled her against her bosom again to nurse a bit more. This seemed to content her. He smiled—it seemed to him that his mouth would be permanently molded in a smile—and gently stroked her head again. Soon Katherine pulled away and went to sleep against her mother's warm body.

They stayed like that for a little while longer until, unfortunately, the obstetrician came back to stick a hospital ID bracelet on the baby's tiny arm and place the child in the incubator where her body functions could be monitored. The new parents didn't like being parted from her, but the reassurance of the doctor that the baby was not in danger soothed them. They knew that she would be brought back to them soon.


	17. Mending the Bond

**Bonus Scene: Mending the Bond**

* * *

**Prompt by an anonymous reader**: "Rapunzel and Flynn have a fight, and have to use Mrs. King's method (ch. 20) to make up."

**Scene Notes: **Everyone in every relationship fights on occasion, but I apologize in advance for the sheer nastiness of their fight in this piece. That part will probably not be pleasant to read. There are times when I really worry about the ease at which I can write that sort of thing... However, the point of the story isn't that they fight; it's that they address the problems that led to the fight and make up afterward. **Rated T for allusions.**

* * *

Looking back, Rapunzel wasn't sure how it had started or even how long it had been going on. All she was certain of was that, as her twenty-second birthday approached, she felt no excitement, no happiness, nothing but a growing sense of irritation and stress. And finally, on a Thursday a week before her birthday, it all came to a head.

She had just settled down on the couch with a book when a loud, miserable wailing echoed from the bedroom. Her heart rate jumped at the mere sound, and annoyance rushed over her. She closed her eyes and slowly counted to ten. The wailing increased. Finally, giving it up, she slammed her book down on the cushion next to her, stood up, and stormed back to the room.

A very unhappy baby lay in the bassinet, bellowing her head off. The screaming had made the infant flush red, and her face was contorted in such a way that Rapunzel could not help but think, traitorously, that this was one ugly-looking baby at the moment.

"Oh, will you be _quiet?"_ she snarled as she picked her not-quite-two-month-old daughter. "Can't you give me an hour of peace?"

The wailing quieted down as she carried the baby out to the living room, plopped down on the couch in aggravation, and grudgingly began to nurse. Katherine's color returned to normal, and as Rapunzel held the child close, she felt the anger toward this baby drain from her. This wasn't Katherine's fault, Rapunzel thought. She hadn't asked to be born, and she couldn't help doing what all babies did when they were hungry or lonely. Rapunzel felt guilty now about being angry at the baby in the first place. She stroked the little girl's soft dark hair gently. No, she shouldn't be angry at her child—and she wasn't anymore.

But she _was_ still angry. Her thoughts wandered as she nestled the small, now peaceful, baby against her. The reminder that her birthday was a week away only seemed to intensify her anger. She was going to be twenty-two years old. That was too young for what she had to deal with every day. She should be out having fun with her friends and going to the job she'd gotten just last year at a graphic design firm, she thought, not sitting at home all day with a child to take care of and a marriage to keep happy. _I wanted to be an independent adult, but once I had independence, I threw it away. I've thrown away my twenties,_ she thought resentfully. _This is how I'm going to be spending them. Last year Pascal and Max wanted me to go with them on spring break, and they said when they got back that they'd insist on it this year. Hah! So much for that idea. No more spring breaks for me._

Flynn had gone into Fairfax to do some grocery shopping. By the time he came back, Rapunzel had worked herself into such a state of resentment that it was apparently obvious, because he nearly dropped the bag that he was carrying when he saw her.

"What in the world is the matter?" he exclaimed, staring at her.

She glared back at him. All the resentment and anger that she had been unable, and unwilling, to direct at innocent little Katherine was focused squarely on him. "Oh, nothing," she snapped sarcastically. "Just the small fact that I'm unable to even read a book in peace anymore."

He glanced quickly at Kate, then back at Rapunzel. "You sure that's all?" he said with a raised eyebrow.

Hearing it asked this way, in this blatantly disbelieving, almost disapproving tone, infuriated her. "No, now that you mention it, that's not all!" she sneered. "It's also the fact that I have to stay indoors all day long, _again,_ because it's too cold to go for long walks with her or do anything else."

He passed through the living room without comment and continued into the kitchen, carrying his bag. Rapunzel was furious. She was sure that he was simply ignoring her complaints. She set the sleeping baby down gently on the pillow and covered her up with the fuzzy yellow blanket that had been her own. Then, all her irritation surging forth once more, she followed Flynn into the kitchen.

"Don't walk away and ignore me!" she exclaimed at the sight of his back. He was unloading groceries.

He shut the door to a cabinet and turned around to face her. "I wasn't," he said. "I actually think you have a point."

That took her by surprise. "Oh?" she asked, for a second feeling the anger draining away.

"Yep... and since it _is _your birthday soon, I was thinking that probably the best gift would be a day off. You remember that writers' cocktail party in New York that my publisher is throwing tomorrow night?"

Rapunzel did remember. The invitation had come by mail a couple of weeks ago. It was a fairly large event for its kind, with a big enough guest list that it was not necessary to RSVP. She had put aside the invitation as a near impossibility, something that her current full-time job tending to Kate could not possibly permit—though a spark of resentment had flashed in her mind when the invitation came in. She had not expected the subject to come up again. Now that he _had _brought it up, she instantly realized what he was thinking.

"_That's_ your idea of how to make things easier?" she exclaimed. "Go to a party in New York?"

"Rapunzel, you need to _relax_ for a bit—"

"And how will that help me relax? You'll be at the party, having your wine and cheese, while I'm stuck feeding her, just like I always am!"

He gaped at her in amazement. "Rapunzel, it's not like it was in the first month! You _know _that Max and Pascal will take care of her for one night and do just fine."

"That's not the point!" she exclaimed.

He looked befuddled. "Then what is the point? Why can't you go?"

She evaded the latter question. "The point is that I don't think you understand what I go through every day, if you think the problems can be solved by a single night at a party! I spend almost my whole day tending to her. I don't resent _her_ for it," she added quickly, giving him the evil eye. His eyes widened as he realized what she was implying, but she continued ahead. "I know how it is with babies. But I'm only twenty-one—almost twenty-two—and this is just... it's like I'm never going to get a break in life."

He stared at her. "Get a _break_ in life? Are you seriously comparing your life here to growing up in that cabin, or being unemployed, or—"

"Now that you mention it, I have been away from my job for two months!" she exclaimed. "I'll probably _never _get to go back!"

"You don't even _need_ to work!" he fired back at her. "We have plenty of money! You can paint whatever _you _want, whenever you want to, rather than being told how to use your talents to make somebody _else_ money."

Her mouth dropped open in rage. "Maybe I want to work!" she shouted. "Maybe I want to earn money myself! Of course, I shouldn't expect _you _to understand that, since all you do is peck at the computer all day long while _I _cook for you and do everything for _our _daughter!" she added spitefully.

He took two steps toward her and then stopped, glaring out at her furiously. "You don't know what you're talking about," he snapped. "I do a lot more than you know. I get up a _lot _of nights at three or four in the morning to feed her, because I don't want her to wake you up!"

She paused, clearly shocked by this, and the fury rushing out of her words seemed to disappear. "Flynn—you mean—" she began to say.

But he wasn't through. He was angry too now, and he was determined to have his say. "You think I just 'peck at my computer,' lost in my own little world, and not think about you except during meals and in bed? I—"

The rage she had been feeling was rushing back with every angry word he said. "Oh, that is a _lie,"_ she said, feeling a rush of adrenaline at the accusation she was daringly making. "I only _wish _you thought about me in bed! You haven't been doing anything except saying good night and going to sleep! Don't you _even _say—"

"Oh, well, that can be remedied easily," he said, smirking. "But you want to know why I've been doing that? Because I've had the impression you were far too tired, and I didn't want to be demanding and self-centered!"

"Oh, how _selfless _you are," she said with cutting sarcasm. "What a _sacrifice."_

His mouth curled upward at one corner. "Is that all you can do now, make fun? Because your sour little fantasy that I don't do anything, that I don't think about you or her, just got shot down?"

Her eyes grew wide, and she fell silent, unable to respond immediately.

"I never told you what I felt... how much I worried about you, both of you, the night she was born," he continued. "I was so afraid I would lose you both. And then the hospital workers shut me out of the room..."

"Oh, how _dare_ you!" she roared, her fury rejuvenated again at these words. _"I_ was the one who went through all that! I was the one who was in pain! Don't you dare lay a guilt trip on me about what _you _suffered that night!"

He stopped and regarded her with amazement. The rage that he had been feeling seemed to lift from his face, leaving behind only astonished sympathy. "I... wow. That's what you think I'm doing? You know, this is _proof _that you need to come with me to New York and have one night of fun... to relax and just have a nice evening. In fact," he added, "I already told Max and Pascal about the party, just as a heads up, in case we _did _decide to go. They'd be delighted to keep Kate for one night."

"You did _what?_ I—you have _no _right to make plans like that without consulting me about it!"

He laughed. "Plans, Rapunzel? What do you think, that I'm going to take her away and hand her over and then haul you off to Manhattan handcuffed and tied up in the car? I wanted to keep our choices open, so I tipped off your friends that we _might _ask them to look over her for one night!"

"It doesn't matter," she said. She wasn't even sure what she was angry about specifically, but he was apparently determined to fight, so she was too. "You made preliminary plans involving _my _friends and _my _daughter."

"_Your_ daughter?" he roared back. "She's my daughter too, or did you forget that? I see what's really going on here," he added darkly. "You _want _to stay here all the time, tending to her, so you can wallow in this resentment you've cooked up against me for knocking you up and marrying you. But oh right, that's half _your _doing on both counts, isn't it? So you have to turn me into some kind of useless dad and self-centered husband, and it pisses you _right _off that I'm not actually that at all."

He paused, regarding her with a dark gleam in his eye, giving the impression of a predator about to deliver a killing bite to his prey. "How long will you use _her_ as a victimization prop? You won't hand her off even to your closest friends for a night, because that ruins the martyr script. Are you going to keep her from leaving the metro area? When will the sparkly dresses, tiaras, and fake hair make _their _appearances?"

Rapunzel's mouth dropped open in shock. She could hardly believe her ears. "You son of a—!" she shouted louder than either of them had shouted in the whole fight, but she was unwilling to actually finish the phrase. At this, wailing began to sound from the living room.

He seemed to regret having made the last remarks, but before he could speak, she turned on her heels and snapped, "You can just go to New York yourself if you want to so much! In fact, I hope you _do, _because I don't even want to see you around here!"

"Maybe I will!" he snapped back as she flounced out of the kitchen.

* * *

Rapunzel spent the rest of the evening cuddling Katherine closely and trying to stop the hot tears in her eyes from pouring down her face. Her thoughts were roiling. She felt a twinge of guilt about accusing him of being useless when he had been getting up in the middle of the night to save _her _from waking up, and his closing assessment of her state of mind seemed uncomfortably accurate, but the guilt was quickly subsumed in a resurgence of anger at his final comments comparing her to her mother. That was utterly uncalled for, and it was a level of cruelty of which she had not wanted to believe him still capable. The last time that he had said something that vicious was that _other _fight. The horrible fight they'd had before they had become a couple.

Rapunzel pulled her yellow blanket over her legs and tucked it around the sleeping baby she held. A chill had rippled down her body at that memory—and what had come after.

She did not budge from the couch the whole evening. When dinnertime came, she heard Flynn shuffling into the kitchen from his study and heating something up in the microwave. He ate and then went back to his study without a word.

At last the rumblings of her stomach became too much to ignore, so she picked Katherine up and carried her into the kitchen in her baby sling. She fixed a sandwich for herself and got out an apple and some milk. Then she sat down at the table and ate her simple supper in silence, hoping that her husband would not make an appearance. He didn't. Halfway through her sandwich, she heard the shower start.

Rapunzel knew that the one-bedroom condo would one day be too small. For the present, their plan was to move the computer desks and bookcases out of the study and into their bedroom and living room, turning the study—which had a small closet that only lacked a clothes rod—into a bedroom for Katherine once she outgrew a bassinet or crib next to their own bed. When she grew older and needed more space, or whenever they wanted to add to their family, then they would contemplate moving somewhere else. However, at the moment Rapunzel _really _wished there was another bedroom in the condo. She did not want to climb into that bed tonight.

After about another hour, the light in their room went off. She supposed that he had gone to bed. She waited a little while longer before carrying the baby into the bedroom, placing her gently in the bassinet, and grabbing up her pajamas to take into the bathroom. She emerged from the bathroom in her nightclothes, and, with a single withering glance at the king bed and the occupant resting or sleeping on his side, she left the bedroom. She would spend the night on the couch.

* * *

Early the next morning, she awoke to the sound of Katherine's wailing. Flynn was already gone, with no note or any indication as to where he had gone. It occurred to her that he might have actually gone off to New York without her. The idea made her heart ache. She had gone to bed still feeling anger and resentment toward him, but now that he was off somewhere else and she had had the chance to sleep (she wondered briefly if Kate had woken him up the night before, as he'd said happened frequently), she felt lonely and sad.

She couldn't figure out how the argument had gotten so out of hand. Both of them, it seemed, were stubborn, bullheaded personalities who simply could not back down from a fight until they had inflicted satisfying wounds on each other. The thought was very disturbing, and as Rapunzel strapped Katherine into the high chair and made herself a bowl of cereal for breakfast, she felt a twinge of fear pass over her. That was a tendency that, if it didn't change, could lead to... She couldn't finish the thought at first.

_Oh no you don't,_ she scolded herself. _You acknowledge it openly, by name. It could lead to—divorce. There. Now do something about it._

She knew what she _ought _to do. She ought to call his phone number and ask what he was up to, and if he _had _gone to New York, she ought to avail herself of her friends' offer to babysit and go after him. But she couldn't bring herself to do it just yet. The party would begin at nine o'clock that evening, and it was only seven in the morning. He might have just gone out for a walk in the late winter cold to clear his mind.

The morning ticked away. Katherine, mercifully, was relatively calm and undemanding today, and Rapunzel actually had the chance to curl up on the couch with the book she had meant to read the day before. However, she couldn't get into it. She missed him, and she wished he would return. But as morning gave way to afternoon, she felt increasingly anxious that he might _have _gone to New York. And _he _hadn't called _her._ He really ought to, she thought at one point. He had been the crueler one in the argument, with those cutting references to her mother's emotional abuse. He had a gift for understanding people's inner thoughts—it served him well in his prior career and his current one—but such pointed, personal cruelty was a terrible use to which to put it.

Maybe, she thought, he was too ashamed of those comments to face her.

She leaned back and closed her eyes. A tear trickled down her face. As hateful and unnecessary as the comparisons to her mother were, she could not help but admit that he had been completely correct about exactly what she truly resented and what she was doing, mentally, to justify that resentment to herself. She recalled how, before he had come back, she had focused on the idea of missing out on "her twenties"—on a decade of carefree, responsibility-free fun that she imagined the young women who were single without kids would all have. The idea seemed laughable now. She had not lived a carefree, responsibility-free life when she was in that position. She'd had plenty of responsibilities. She recalled the terrible month of unemployment, in which the fear (and then the reality) of being without a true home of her own had hung over her like a dark cloud. Any young person who was not well-off would have that particular fear. Those who were truly single, unpartnered—many of them, at least—would also know that they could not fall back on anyone else if that happened. No doubt there were people who lived a life of steady play and partying, but it was a myth that everyone in a different life situation from her own did nothing but have fun. She now had to recognize it as a myth.

But even if it had been true, she also had to admit that he was right. Her current life situation, her life situation for the foreseeable future, was not something he did _to her._ It was the result of a string of choices they had both made. Running from it might _technically_ be an option, she supposed, but it was a terrible one. A glance at the baby sleeping on the couch next to her put that fledgling, fragmentary idea right out of her mind. No, that wasn't what she wanted at all.

A sigh escaped from her. She knew what had happened now. The stress of having a new baby, a baby that had been born premature to boot, had gotten to her, and in her state of stress and frustration and general tiredness, she had allowed herself to fall into simple "grass is greener elsewhere" thinking.

The proposed trip to New York _had _been a good idea. A quick excursion was usually a good antidote for stress. She suddenly realized how fortunate she was to have good friends who were willing to babysit for her when she needed a night off—eager, in fact, from the sounds of it.

Now if only Flynn would come back from wherever he was, they could grab up what they needed and catch a train. Unless, of course, he had gone to New York by himself.

Rapunzel sighed again as something else occurred to her. It wouldn't be as simple as that. They'd had a fight—the worst argument they'd had since before they got together. They were both proud, stubborn... and they both owed each other apologies. Even if he did come back in time, this would not be as simple as grabbing up an overnight bag, dropping Kate off with Pascal and Max, and hopping on a train as if nothing at all had happened.

She brooded over what to do, what to say, whenever he did turn up or call her. Kate continued with her nap, leaving her mother to her thoughts.

Then, around one o'clock, the front door opened, and Flynn walked in. He stopped cold as he saw her on the couch. A look of guilt and discomfort came over his face.

"I..." he trailed off, unsure of what to say.

However, another conversation with another person was flashing through her memories even as he spoke. The night before their wedding, she had asked her grandmother about this very thing, what to do if and when they had a fight again. The advice Mrs. King had given—give each other space, sleep it off if necessary, but don't let more than a day go by before reaching out to each other—came back to her. Well, they _had _slept apart, they had certainly given each other time to be alone, and in her case, sleeping on it had helped her to see the whole matter with clearer eyes.

Then the other piece of advice her grandmother had given her came to mind. She stood up and approached him, eyes wide. "Flynn," she said pleadingly. She reached out her arms.

He paused for a moment before recognizing what she wanted. Then he leaned forward and enveloped her in a hug. "Rapunzel," he murmured into her hair, squeezing her tightly.

A thrill of joy traveled over her at the sensation. "I'm sorry about yesterday," she said quietly.

"So am I," he said, kissing her lightly on top of the head. "I... I don't know why I said those things."

"I think I do," she said, squeezing him with a kind of desperation. "We both are so, so determined to 'win,' or at least to not 'lose,' that we... sometimes forget that we're actually inflicting hurt. It happened—_before."_

He did not need her to elaborate on what she meant. A heavy sigh escaped him. "You're right," he said. "It shouldn't happen again. That's the second time I've said something like that to you... and I have felt horrible about it ever since it left my stupid mouth, just like the first time. I didn't mean it, Rapunzel—you're right, it _was _just a way to upset you. I promise I'll try to control myself better in the future."

"I know you didn't really mean it," she said, pressing herself against his chest. "You were right throughout the whole argument, you know—about what I was doing, what I was thinking, and why. I realized that today. That's the second time _that's_ happened in an argument," she said wryly, "and _I'll _try to be less defensive about what you tell me, since you have a 2-for-2 record now about things like that."

He chuckled and squeezed her tightly. "Well, I don't know if it's too late now to try that little trip—"

"Oh, I hope not," she said eagerly, glancing up at him and meeting his eyes. "I thought about that too and realized that the reason I'd become so irritated and resentful was just stress, so if it _isn't _too late, I'd love to try it after all." She glanced over at Katherine. "I'll miss her, but it'll just be for one night. Not even a full day."

"And she'll be well taken care of," Flynn added. He was smiling now, and he finally released her from his hug. "So you do want to go, then?"

She nodded, her eyes shining. "I think it'll be good for both of us."

"Then we'd better grab up our stuff and head to the city pretty soon," he said with a glance at his watch.

Quickly she scampered off to the bedroom to gather up some items for a brief overnight stay. Her favorite little black dress and a pair of heels... the diamond necklace he had given her to match her diamond ring... Then, as she opened one particular drawer, she caught sight of something that made her smirk devilishly. He _had _made a certain promise during their argument... and with that promise in mind, she grabbed up the lavender negligee and matching panties she had bought many months ago, before their first time, and quickly shoved them into her overnight bag before he could see them. He would get to see them tonight after the party.


	18. Anniversary

**Bonus Scene: Anniversary**

* * *

**Prompt by an anonymous reader:** "Hey Beta I know it might be too late for more drabble ideas (and you're probably busy with your new story) but maybe when you have the time you could write about like how it's Rapunzel and Flynn's 1st anniversary, or whatever, and they try and re-enact their first meeting at the club..."

**Scene Notes:** I edited this one to change the type of guy who tries to hit on Rapunzel in Flynn's absence. Taking swipes at DC suits is boring and overdone, and I wanted to go after a different target in this edit, one that I haven't gone after in this AU except very briefly in Flynn's section of "O Brave New World" (chapter 5 of this piece). Part of the guy's behavior, sneering at her birthplace, is based on a conversation my friend "Bain Sidhe" (her ff name) actually had in DC with a guy of this type. The rest of it is based on pabulum I've come across on the Web. I am a true independent and I will take a swipe at anyone I want, so be warned. **Occurs after the epilogue. Rated T.**

* * *

Rapunzel scanned the room, a frown crossing her face involuntarily. Flynn was nowhere in sight. She glanced down at her watch, though she had already checked it not half a minute ago. Yes, he was _late,_ a full ten minutes late_._ Her frown deepened. This wasn't cool. _He _didn't have any reason to be late. _He _hadn't been the one who had to get away from the chatty pair of friends who were babysitting their eight-month-old for them.

Surely he hadn't _forgotten._ Surely he was just having difficulty locating her. This was his idea, after all—celebrating their first anniversary here, in this overpriced dance club that had arguably brought them together twice. It was where they had first met, and it was where she had been the night that she called him after that rough month of separation. Given that, she could understand his sentimentality about the place. But more practically, it was a nightmare finding a specific person here, with the dark atmosphere and flashing colored lights—and she was about as far away from the dance floor as she could be, being seated at a small table for two in a _comparatively _quiet area. It was virtually impossible to find anyone who was dancing. This had not been her idea, and so far, she wasn't having a particularly good time.

Before tonight, Rapunzel had only been here those two times. When she had been single, she had not sought to change that status, nor had she sought out meaningless hookups. She had come here on her birthday because Pascal and Max had recommended it as a fun place and it was her twenty-first, and she had come back the second time because she was depressed and had a subconscious idea that she would meet Flynn again here. Both times, she had been put off by any other male who gave her attention and had avoided socializing as much as she could.

Tonight, Rapunzel had naïvely thought that since she was not single anymore and wore visible evidence of it, she would be left alone. _Should've known better,_ she thought sardonically as she sipped her beer. She'd only been here fifteen minutes, and already one guy who was not her husband had approached her, asking to "buy her a drink"—though she knew what that meant.

He was well-dressed, she supposed, but not in a way she found even remotely appealing. Black trousers, a loud purple shirt with no tie or jacket, patterned suspenders with small political buttons pinned to them. Casual black shoes with laces. He was scruffy but lacking anything that qualified as a real beard, and he wore a pair of those heavy black-rimmed glasses that were ubiquitous among a certain set of people. To Rapunzel, who had an artist's mind, everything about his look seemed calculated to mock the suit-and-tie crowd, especially in conjunction with the condescending smile. He had claimed to work at an activist organization, which she didn't doubt for one second. She had seen this type before.

She had wanted him to be gone as soon as he showed up, but when he asked her where she was from and made a snotty political crack about her home state—saying, of course, that it was "just a joke"—she was tempted to punch him in the face. She had tried to remain polite, pointedly placing her left hand on the tabletop right before his eyes, making sure her rings gleamed in the flashing lights, as she firmly declined his offer of a drink. But even that did not dissuade him. The guy had merely raised an eyebrow at the rings—a facial expression that drove her wild when Flynn made it, but that was _incredibly_ sleazy from this character—and said, superior condescension dripping from his words, "You know, seeing _that _jewelry just saddens me. He doesn't own you. You can make your own choices, and you're here without him for a reason anyway. Live a little."

At that, she had turned around with a look of utter disgust written on her face and told him harshly to get out of her sight. She thought for a moment about saying that Flynn was on his way, but decided that anyone believing that a monogamous relationship was oppression deserved a straight smackdown, certainly not an explanation or excuse for refusing his company. After he had finally disappeared into the crowd, she was glad she hadn't said anything more. But the encounter had certainly spoiled her mood for the time being.

She was staring down at her table, lost in thought, when suddenly a hand brushed her right shoulder and trailed lightly down her side. Jumping in her seat, she whirled around with her hand raised, sure it was the smarmy hipster character again, and prepared to smack him in the face. Instead she met a pair of very familiar brown eyes.

"Whoa," Flynn exclaimed, eyes wide, as he scooted away and set his drink down on the other side of the little table. "Easy!"

Something was familiar about his clothes, and suddenly she realized what it was. He was dressed similarly, though not identically, to how he had been the night they had met, wearing black belted pants and a white shirt. Tonight, though, he also wore a vest and a tie. A smile was forming on her face as he settled in, and her back was still tingling where he had touched her.

He sat down across from her and leaned across the tiny table, inches from her. "Somebody been bothering you?" he asked as he sipped his drink.

"Yeah," she said with a scowl. "And he wouldn't even go away when I showed him my rings. He just spouted platitudes about how 'you don't own me.' I had to tell him to get lost."

Flynn's eyebrows narrowed. He turned and scanned the crowds. "That him?" he asked.

Rapunzel looked at the person Flynn was gazing at. It was the guy who had bothered her, and he was glaring at the couple with something very like loathing. Evidently he had looked back at Rapunzel's table and recognized Flynn from his days as a financial industry lobbyist or his recent book about the Crown Group scandal. "That's him," she confirmed. She looked back at Flynn and smiled adoringly at him for the benefit of the hipster. When he realized that they were aware he was staring at them, he glanced away at once and tried to vanish into the crowd.

Flynn laughed. "What a tool. Want me to kick his ass? I'll gladly do it."

Rapunzel giggled. "No, I don't want you to get arrested on _his _account. He'll eventually get what he deserves. That's not what I want to think about tonight, anyway."

The anger left his face, and a smile replaced it at once. He reached across the small table, took her left hand, and brought it to his lips. "Me either," he said. He brought her hand down but did not release it. "What _do_ you want to think about?" he said in a sultry voice.

After a year of being married and several months more of being together, she knew how to play this game. Smiling benignly, she bent her head toward her drink but peered up at him from beneath dark eyelashes. "Oh, I think you can guess."

His grip on her hand tightened. "Maybe I can't," he said. "Maybe there are too many possibilities for what I could be doing in your... _fantasies."_ She felt a blush creep over her cheeks. "So why don't you help me out?"

She let her gaze drop down again. "I was thinking about the time we met, actually."

"Ah." He smirked at her. "You really derailed the plans I had that night, you know."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Did I, now?"

"You did," he said. His gaze dropped, as did the smirk on his face. "I meant to take you to my condo, take you to bed, go out to eat or something the next day, and then if we'd hit it off, start going out regularly. But you had too much to drink for me to even get to step one."

She chuckled. "I remember. Such a gentleman."

"But of course," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Then his tone became more solemn. "All I can say for myself then is that at least I _was _looking for something serious and meaningful. I just wasn't going about it the right way."

"Flynn, don't do that," she objected. "You stuck around because you _did _want more, you wanted it from _me,_ and so you were willing to help me sort myself out. That's what matters."

"No, you're right," he agreed. "But I am glad now that it didn't happen in the order I'd planned that first night." The smirk appeared on his face again.

She smiled contentedly. "I might possibly be more open to it tonight, you know. No matter how much I end up having," she added.

"Oh, I'm sure you would be." He paused, regarding her with sharp eyes for a moment, before speaking again. Then he leaned across the table. "Is that what you're thinking about?" he said in a teasing voice. "Tsk, tsk. Bad girl."

"If I am, it's your fault," she said, staring back at him challengingly.

"Oh no," he said. "I am not responsible for _your _naughty thoughts." He finished his beer and ambled around the table, while she kept her eyes on him the whole time. He stopped next to her and stood by her right side, not touching her, just watching.

"What are you up to?" she said, distrust in her words, but also anticipation.

He merely raised a single eyebrow at her in response.

"Flynn," she pleaded.

He gave her a smirk, clearly enjoying this. "Why don't you finish that and then you'll find out?" he purred.

Her heart thumped, and she smirked back at him as she returned to her drink. She had been a little uneasy about even ordering it; she had not had anything alcoholic in almost a year and a half, but after one, she felt no inclination to overindulge. She drank up the remainder of it. Feeling a bit giddier, yet fully in control of herself, she turned on her stool with a wicked smile—

–But he was too fast. An arm wrapped around her waist. The dress she was wearing, a satiny black sleeveless number with a flared skirt, was pretty thin, and she felt his grip through it. Her breath caught in her chest as he drew her close and leaned over. His breath was hot against her ear. His lips brushed lightly against her earlobe. She twisted almost involuntarily in his grip, feeling a thrill rush over her, an energy that she had to dissipate somehow.

He chuckled. "I love how demonstrative you are," he said softly. He leaned in and nipped at her ear gently, making her squirm again.

"Stop tormenting me in public," she protested, her hands finding their way to the arm that wrapped around her waist and pinned her against him. She tried to pull his arm away, but her struggles only seemed to increase his grip.

"No," he said merrily. "I didn't get to do anything like this the last time we were both in here. You just said it would be different tonight, and I'm taking you up on that."

"I didn't mean in public," she said, but she stopped trying to remove his arm from her waist.

He laughed. "Oh, don't you worry—I'm not going to stop once we're alone."

She blushed hotly. "I meant other people seeing."

"It's nothing out of the ordinary for a place like this," he said as he planted a kiss on the side of her cheek. He whirled her around to face him. "Please?"

She was taken by surprise to hear him say that in that imploring tone, and as she glanced up and met his eyes, many things passed through her mind. His brown eyes were gleaming with merriment, but they were also wide and pleading. She saw in them the sardonic, arrogant side of him and, at the same time, the earnest, tender side. She saw her husband, the father of her child, the person who knew her best of anyone in the world. She saw the person who had refused to give her up even when she had given up on herself, who had been the catalyst for her to save herself from her own demons—and whom she had, in turn, saved from _his _demons. And she saw the confident, well-to-do young man who had insisted on getting to know her that night.

She had kissed him—and more—countless times, but never in the place they had met. The last time they were here together, they had still been haunted by those demons. Now that was different, and she suddenly wanted to acknowledge that to him.

So she stood on her tiptoes, reached for his face, and kissed him full on the mouth. His eyes widened for a moment in surprise, but he reached for the back of her head at once, taking control of the kiss and deepening it.

Rapunzel found that he was correct about no one paying attention to them making out. The only other time they had ever lost control in public like this was when he had proposed to her, and they had stood kissing and embracing just off the sidewalk for one of the reflecting pools. People _had _noticed _that._ There was something very liberating about _this _situation, and it was even more liberating to know that—unlike most of the other pairs who indulged in this here—_they _already knew, trusted, and loved each other. There was no "script" for them, and there would be no sense of anxiety, uncertainty, or loneliness to follow later.

At last he broke the kiss and drew away from her. "When was the last time I said I loved you?" he murmured.

She thought about it. "This morning, I think."

"Too long ago." He pulled her in again and kissed her hard, then, just as firmly, pulled away and regarded her with fiery eyes. "I love you."

She beamed. She couldn't even help it; the corners of her mouth seemed to curl upward of their own accord. He just made her feel so _happy._ "I love you too," she said.

He smiled that crooked smile that she adored so much. "Want to dance?"

She giggled, realizing why he had asked her that. He had also asked her to dance the night they had met, and she had declined, afraid of being made fun of. At their wedding, they had finally danced together, but after that, there had not been an opportunity for it. She nodded eagerly. He leaned in, gave her one more quick kiss on her cheek, and together they walked hand in hand toward the dance floor.


	19. AUs - Starting Off On Different Feet

**AU Scenes: Starting Off On Different Feet**

* * *

**Scene 1 prompt from an anonymous reader: "**A.U for your A.U... Lobbyist Flynn attends yet another function (or ball, or party, or whatever it is you'd call it) and he expects his night to turn out like any other. But he had no idea he'd take such a shining to senator King's lovely granddaughter; who appeared to be immune by his charms. Or was she?"

**Scene 2 prompt from the-great-escapist:** "On the night of the camping... what do you think would have happened if Rapunzel hadn't freaked out? ;)"

**Scene 3 prompt by an anonymous reader:** "What if Rapunzel had to move in with Flynn because her friends actually moved out of D.C. How do you think that would have worked out? Thanks for writing :)"

**Chapter Notes:** I've put all the AUs into one chapter. The first scene is pretty happy on the whole and is a completely AU version of Rapunzel's past several years, one in which she does go to live with her grandparents as a juvenile. It is separate from scenes 2 and 3. The second and third scenes can be seen as part of the same, rather angstier AU for the progression of Flynn and Rapunzel's relationship. Content warning for angst. **Rated T.**

* * *

**Standing Out In the Crowd**

* * *

Flynn sipped his wine and frowned as the political elites circulated around him. Members of Congress and their families, high-ranking staff, wealthy donors, lobbyists... most of them sparkling with their own narcissism, simultaneously loving and hating being around people just like them in this hotel ballroom.

Flynn hated these functions. _Really _hated them. Maybe he _was_ every bit as narcissistic as the people surrounding him in their high-priced suits and glittering Rolexes, but he still felt somehow superior to all of them. _They _held the general population in contempt, the people that at least _some _of them were supposed to represent, but—whether envious or not—did respect each other. _He_, on the other hand, held _everyone _in contempt. Playing the game of this rarefied world had made him a millionaire, but that didn't mean he had truly become part of it. Though he could simper and sneer with the best of them, he didn't even like talking to these people and had no friends. He didn't even really like to hang out with the crowd from work anymore.

He was almost getting ready to leave early, alleging a headache, when something caught his eye. There, crouched down low against the back wall, a girl with short brown hair trimmed neatly around her head had a notebook propped up against her bent knees. She was scribbling feverishly on the top page, occasionally peering out at the crowd of people before ducking her head and continuing with her work.

_Well, that's different,_ Flynn thought. Whoever this girl was, she didn't seem to be inclined to socialize with these people either. Instead she was—what? Taking notes? _Writing?_ a tiny voice whispered mischievously in the back of his mind.

He ignored that particular voice, but now that he had seen her, he couldn't ignore the girl. Though no one else seemed to notice her, to _him _everything about her stood out in this crowd, from her ungraceful sitting on the hard carpet to her mysterious activity to the general impression she gave of being lost in the workings of her own mind. Flynn smiled involuntarily to himself at that thought. He could relate...

She didn't notice as he approached her, but as he drew nearer, he could tell that she was very pretty and probably younger than he by a few years. She was dressed in a simple black cocktail dress, but it was fitted, and even when she was crouched on the floor like this, it was evident that she had a good figure. Her eyes were a vivid grass-green, and a sprinkling of freckles dotted her face. Finally he reached her and cleared his throat to get her attention.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, suddenly seeing him. She bolted to her feet and clutched the notebook to her chest. Her face colored.

"You look busy," he remarked, his eyes fixed on the notebook.

She nodded quickly, not speaking a word.

"What was it—if you don't mind my asking?"

"Drawing," the girl stuttered out.

Flynn raised an eyebrow in surprise and peered around the room. "Drawing _this _crowd? Doesn't seem like the best subject."

"Yeah, but I try to practice whenever I can," the girl said. Her grip on her notebook seemed to loosen a bit, and the ghost of a smile formed on her face.

"You're an artist?" That was _definitely _something different. Flynn found himself glad that he had chosen to talk to this girl.

"Art student," she said. "George Washington. Second year."

"Well, I'm a lobbyist," he said, though he almost didn't want to. "The name's Flynn Rider." He held out a hand to her.

"Rapunzel Forrest." She took his hand—wow, he thought, she had soft skin—and shook firmly. He was surprised at the strength of her shake; he had not expected that from the seemingly insecure young woman before him.

"That's an unusual name," he remarked.

She nodded, looking away, but said nothing. Flynn suspected that this was probably not the best subject to discuss, so he segued to the one that had brought him over here in the first place.

"So, you draw at these functions?" he asked. "It's uncommon to see someone doing something like that here."

She looked down. "I know," she said quietly, shame filling her voice.

He suddenly felt really bad about apparently giving her the impression that he disapproved. "Oh no," he said quickly, "there's nothing _wrong _with it! In fact, it's what got my attention. You were doing your own thing, being creative. I like that." He smiled at her. "You've spent your evening a lot better than any of these people have," he added, "including me. You've got something to show for the night, something that will last. They don't."

She was looking at him with a strange, intrigued expression as he rambled. The grip on her sketchbook loosened further.

"So, do you mind if I have a look at it?"

She hesitated for a fraction of a second, then held out the notebook—which he now realized was a sketchpad. He took it in hand and regarded the top picture. It was in pencil. It wasn't quite realistic; there was a whimsical element to it almost reminiscent of old cartoon landscapes from the 1960s or perhaps concept art for modern animations, but this only added a kind of charm to the scene that was absolutely (in Flynn's mind) not present in reality. He rather liked it.

"That's excellent," he said sincerely, handing the notebook back to her.

The smile on her face grew. "Thanks," she said shyly. She seemed to want to say something else, but appeared to be struggling in her mind with whether or not to do it. Flynn picked up on this and gave her an encouraging smile of his own. That settled it for her. "You're the first person at these events who's been interested in my sketchbook," she said in a slightly hushed voice. "Well, other than my grandparents and their staff."

The mention of these other names brought Flynn back to the present reality. She was apparently a family member of some politician, something he should have realized from the moment he saw her slumped against that wall, oblivious to the crowd. Someone like that would not be one of the politicos, lobbyists, or donors themselves, and family members were the only other option. He felt his heart sink, then wondered why he should care—or what a hackneyed, ridiculous expression it was to think of one's heart sinking. But there was no denying the disappointment he felt, though he could not pinpoint the cause. He supposed it was probably because the primal part of him would have wanted to take her home after the party, but if she was the granddaughter of a Congressman or something, that would not be a good idea. This town lived on gossip, and it wasn't so much being _involved _in a scandal that warranted condemnation as it was being careless enough to get _caught._

"And who are your grandparents?" he asked her resignedly.

Just then he heard heavy footfalls behind him. "Rapunzel, are you all right?" came a strong, confident voice. The voice's owner turned as he reached them. His brown eyes widened at the sight of Flynn. "He's not bothering you, is he?" There was a sinister sneer in the man's question, and Flynn suddenly felt certain that he knew this man. That shock of light blond hair on his head... that heavily muscled figure... He had dealt with this person before, he knew it.

"Oh no, Max," Rapunzel said eagerly. "He was interested in my sketchbook." She couldn't help but smile. "Max, this is Flynn—"

"I know who he is," Max said rudely.

Flynn raised an eyebrow, his inner hackles raised once more. "Yeah?" he said. "That doesn't surprise me. I'm pretty well-known in this town," he blustered recklessly. Part of him protested against it, sure that it would make a bad impression on Rapunzel, but he couldn't seem to help himself.

Max sneered at him. "Save it, Rider."

Rapunzel was staring at the two in amazement. "Um," she said hesitantly, "okay, obviously you know him, Max... but Flynn, this is Max Morgan, my grandpa's director of research."

The name rang a bell in Flynn's mind, and suddenly he knew who Rapunzel was. A news story suddenly rushed back to his memory, one he had heard almost four years ago, when he first started working in this town. Senator Everard King of Colorado had had a daughter—and, it turned out, a sixteen-year-old granddaughter that neither he nor his wife had known about—living in some boondock place in Alaska, but the girl's mother had poisoned herself, leaving the senator and his wife as the legal next of kin for the girl. Rapunzel, he realized, was that girl.

This was bad. This was really bad. Flynn had few enemies in town, but he could definitely count this senator as one of them. The anti-corruption crusader had had his sights set on Flynn's lobbying firm for several months now—_rightly so,_ Flynn thought grimly—and if the investigation kept going the way it appeared to be going, Flynn was pretty sure he would eventually have to decide whether to bet that nothing serious would come of it, or come forward and spill everything he knew in exchange for immunity. It was an awful choice to contemplate making, and Flynn tried not to think too much about it, but he knew that the day of reckoning was approaching.

Max Morgan and Rapunzel had no idea what thoughts were passing through his head at this moment, however. Max seemed to be regarding him with utter contempt. He turned to Rapunzel, pointedly not speaking to Flynn. "Well, I'd better head back," he said. "If anything starts to make you uncomfortable, just let one of us know, and we'll head out of here." He smiled sympathetically at her and ambled off, giving Flynn one last dark look.

Rapunzel turned to Flynn awkwardly. "Um... sorry about that," she said.

His voice was strained. "It's all right," he said. He swished the remaining dregs of wine in his glass, staring at it to avoid looking her in the eye. "I should leave you alone too. It was nice to meet you, though."

She looked hurt. "But I thought... you liked..." She trailed off, her gaze dropping to the floor.

He realized what she had to be thinking. "I _did_ like talking with you," he said. "But... well, just go talk to your grandparents and you'll see," he said sourly. _Might as well end this before it starts, _he thought to himself, _since nothing can come of it anyway._

She looked confused. "I don't understand."

"You will," he said darkly. With a last parting squeeze of her hand, he quickly walked away, leaving her looking sad and bewildered. He kept walking, leaving the ballroom and the party, stepping into the hall of the hotel. No one else was in sight.

He leaned against the wall, closed his eyes, and sighed. What was wrong with him? Why was he feeling so depressed about having to cut short the conversation with this girl he had just met?

_It's because anyone who will slouch against a wall and draw a picture in the middle of a self-absorbed political cocktail party is unique and special, that's why._

With that thought, somehow, the decision that he had been putting off was made. If this girl didn't belong in this world, then he—the one person in the whole ballroom who had taken sympathetic, admiring notice of her—didn't belong in it either. And he knew why he had taken notice. The image of a young boy perched on a log, roasting wieners over a campfire in the middle of the Smoky Mountains, then eagerly filling out a lined notebook with stories, filled his mind.

He knew what he had to do. It would mean no more of these parties, no more invitations, no more ill-gotten money pouring in, but what difference did that make, really? He was already a millionaire. He'd gotten what he wanted out of the system. If he stayed in much longer, the system would end up eating _him._ It was time to call it a day.

_And if you assist the senator's investigation, you might get to see his granddaughter again,_ a voice in his mind whispered.

In spite of himself, he felt a weak smile forming at the corners of his mouth. He wanted to tell himself that this was a ridiculous thing to think about, but he couldn't help it. He was human, and—why not admit it?—he wished he _could _get to know her better. With the smile still on his face, he gave the doors to the ballroom one last look as he left.

* * *

**Roaring Flames**

* * *

Rapunzel broke away from Flynn, her heart pounding and her breaths hitched. She stared wide-eyed at him. He peered back at her with a look of contentment that quickly turned to smug satisfaction. Then he leaned forward and pulled her in close again, more insistently this time.

She breathed heavily. _What am I doing?_ she thought in a panic, but the thought quickly fled her mind as their lips met for the second time. She couldn't deny that this felt really, really nice, and it was making a strange, unfamiliar, but quite pleasant feeling curl up in the pit of her stomach... a feeling that seemed to compel her to draw even closer. To clutch at the front of his jacket as if he were a lifeline. To moan in pleasure as he released her lips and began trailing sloppy intense kisses across her jawline, toward her earlobe, down her neck...

"I've thought about this all month," he murmured against her skin. "Since the first night I saw you."

Well, that didn't surprise her. He had taken notice of her in a club, after all.

"I just wanted... to let you... take your time," he gasped out between kisses. His own breathing seemed to be getting quicker and more intense. She felt herself being pulled into a tight embrace.

_What am I doing?_ she asked herself again, but the voice was fainter now. In the heat of this moment, aided by the flames of their campfire, the voice that feared and protested against this type of closeness was being overcome by another one, one telling her that she had nothing to fear from him and she shouldn't fear what she might do to him, because the effect she'd had on him so far had been nothing but a good one. He had opened up to her and told her about aspects of his past that he had told no one else. Even that comment tonight—"I wonder if I have any kind of a life anyway"—was clearly an indication of remorse over what he'd done. His follow-up to the remark proved it.

He gave a gasp and finally pulled away from her. When he drew away, he looked positively desperate. "I... think... let's get inside the tent," he managed to say. Silently she nodded, a smile playing at the corners of her lips.

He shoveled ash over the fire, extinguishing most of the light it gave off, and they crawled inside the tiny tent. It seemed a little bigger inside, but there was still very little room. It also seemed cold with the fire quelled.

"It's chilly," she remarked. Her voice sounded breathless, not quite her own.

He turned to her with a smirk that, even in the darkness, she could see clearly. "Well, I know ways to keep warm."

She blushed hotly at the implications, and the flushing remained as he pulled up the heavy blankets, motioned for her to get underneath, and promptly climbed in himself and lay down on top of her, facing her. She could feel his heart pounding, so close to her own.

He began to kiss her again, this time letting his hands trail all over her body, under her clothes, and through her soft hair, pressing harder and harder against her, or so it seemed, as if he couldn't get close enough no matter what. The protesting voice was now entirely absent. She really liked this, having him close like this, covering her like a human security blanket, warming her and showing affection to her...

Finally he pulled away for the last time and exhaled. He relaxed and rolled on his side, holding her and rolling her with him as he did. In the lull, however, the thoughts that she had been pushing out began to come back in force. Her heart thumped with renewed anxiety. _Now what?_ she thought in a sudden panic. _Where do we go from here?_

Flynn, however, did not seem to be aware of the feelings of panic rushing over the young woman lying next to him. He draped an arm around her and pulled her as close as he could, exhaling in pleasure. "Good night," he said softly, giving her a peck on the cheek.

She couldn't get out of his arms even if she wanted to, and she had to confess to herself that a part of her—a rather large part—did not want to. So she burrowed against his chest and let the pleasant—if unfamiliar—feelings of closeness and affection wash over her again. She would deal with the _other _feelings in the morning.

* * *

**A Problem of Trust**

* * *

It was the most humiliating phone call she had ever made. Far worse, even, than the painful calls that the social worker in Alaska had wanted her to make with her mother that first year when she lived in a boarding school in Fairbanks. _Those _calls were monitored by her social worker, and Rapunzel wasn't asking her mother for a favor. The _law _made her mother continue to pay financial support, and her social worker had wanted her to make the calls to try to keep the relationship alive. But in _this _call, she was asking for an enormous favor, and asking it of a person whom she just two weeks ago had shouted at, slapped, and told to leave.

As she waited anxiously and unhappily in the Silver Spring Metro station, a poster, a public service announcement, caught her eye. "IT'S NOT YOUR ONLY CHOICE," blared a gritty italicized font against a distorted, heavily shadowed photo of a morose-looking young woman. At the bottom was the name of the nonprofit that had placed the ad. It was a message for desperate women who were considering prostitution.

Rapunzel quickly glanced away from the poster. Something about it was just a _little_ too painful right now. Fortunately, the Metro was arriving right then, and once it came to a stop, she gratefully boarded it.

It was a long trip to Dupont Circle, but at least it was all on the red line. She could curl up in her seat and simply wait for the crackle of the speaker and the gruff voice of the operator to announce her stop.

It was a rather unhappy farewell that she paid to her two best friends. Their moving truck was already packed and parked temporarily in one of the expensive neighborhood garages, ready for Max to drive it up to Maine literally as soon as their lunch was over. Their tiny apartment suddenly looked much larger now that it was completely empty.

Max and Pascal were sad about the parting, but they also showed excitement about moving to Maine to be part of the marriage campaign. Rapunzel was just sad. Sad and nervous.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" Pascal asked her softly as he hugged her goodbye.

She nodded mutely and felt herself passed to Max for a harder, more bearish hug. "We're really worried about you," he said. "Please keep in touch."

"I will," she said around a choked voice. Max released her from the hug and walked towards the moving van. He and Pascal climbed into the cab of the truck. The engine started. As the truck began to slowly edge down the ramp and out of the parking garage, they gave her parting glances. She waited until she could no longer see them before finally leaving.

* * *

Her own move took place the very next Monday. She didn't have to move just yet; her lease didn't expire until the fifteenth, but with no friends left in the city and a full afternoon to fill now, she knew that she was going to be lonesome. She was _almost_ relieved when _he _showed up with a moving van, a smaller one than Pascal and Max had used, to transport her belongings out to Fairfax. Almost.

They sat on the couch—no, _his _couch—late that night. She was silent, feeling every bit of the anxiety that had been brewing in her ever since she made the call to him. She told herself she shouldn't be so anxious, because surely this situation was better than being homeless or tagging along with her friends because she was too pathetic to maintain herself like an adult should. She tried to ignore the whisper that she was still dependent, and that to choose dependency on _him _rather than _them _was indicative of something other than shame at being unable to support herself. She _could _have gone to Maine with them... but it would have meant leaving the DC metro area. It would have meant leaving _him._

He, on the other hand, was confident, throwing his heavy, confining arm around her shoulder, drawing her in, smirking as he closed the distance, feeling her flinch at his touch but nonetheless allow it. He had known she would come around. Their fight a couple of weeks ago had opened her eyes, he knew. It was just a matter of time before she faced the truth, he thought smugly.

When their lips touched, for a moment she wanted to draw back, pull away, run from the condo, because she couldn't do this, she just couldn't, and he shouldn't expect it and take it for granted the way he did. But she stayed. She let him part her lips and stroke her cheek and push her down against the seat of the couch to devour her. She focused on the pleasurable sensations and tried not to think about the anxious feelings beating on the doors of her mind. When he finally scooped her up in his arms to carry her back to the bedroom, she threw her own around his neck, clinging to him because she was supposed to and because she was terrified that if she pushed him away, he would go back on his word and tell her to get lost.

He set her down on her back, climbed in after her, and continued where he left off. When at last she lay exposed beneath him, she felt her heart pounding and wanted once again to get out, but once again did not. She _knew_ this would happen the moment she made _that call _to him. She knew, after that camping trip and that fight, that their relationship had gone to a place from which there was no return, and it would either continue on its inexorable path—or end completely. She knew that after years of being deliberately manipulated into feeling that she _owed _somebody else love and affection because that person provided for her, she could not possibly avert this even though she also knew that wasn't what _he _was doing. He was just acting on his own absolute confidence and assurance, confidence that she had given him no reason to doubt tonight.

He wanted her, so she let him have her. Why not, she thought? She was no good at what she had gone to school to do; her unemployment proved that, she thought. No one in the world of work wanted her, but at least _he _wanted her. At least he liked her.

_You're just a freeloading roommate, here because of his pity, if he doesn't really want you,_ she told herself, _but if he does, you have a certain right to be here._ It was all right for him to prove how much he wanted her, she thought, since nobody else did.

It sure did hurt like hell, in more ways than one... but somehow, after he was finished, she did feel as if she belonged here.

"I promise I'll take care of you," he whispered after he rolled off her, giving her a final kiss good night.

"_IT'S NOT YOUR ONLY CHOICE,"_ she thought ironically after she had curled up against him and he had thrown his arm around her, keeping her from rolling away in her sleep. She supposed that _technically_ it was true, but only technically.

* * *

The lock clicked, the door opened, and in he walked. He set down his briefcase and tossed his jacket on a chair before sitting down next to her on the couch.

"How did your day go?" she asked.

"Well, it just got better," he replied through a smile.

She couldn't help but smile back as he leaned over to kiss her. There were times when she feared he took her for granted—not because of anything he did, but because of what _she _did. Because never, _not once_ since she moved in a month ago, had she told him, or even implied to him, that she wasn't in the mood for making out or lovemaking, and she had a terrible fear gnawing at her that if she ever _did _tell him that, he would not want her there anymore. She kept trying to tell herself that it was stupid, that he genuinely cared for her and it was unfair to deceive him about her own worries the way she did each and every day, but she still was afraid.

She didn't have a paying job, and she realized that she wasn't _going _to have a paying job. She hadn't applied for one position since she moved in with him. The first and only time she had mentioned the subject, he had told her that she should do it if she really wanted to, but if she _didn't_, then she didn't need to worry about it.

_Of course not,_ she had thought resentfully. _The only job I'll ever hold involves a stove and a mattress._ But she didn't say that, because there was no point in being spiteful. He wasn't keeping her from working. _She_ was.

Still, _he _had gone back to outside work. He had finally found a firm on K Street that would employ him. It lobbied for the financial industry, as he had done before, but this one was a law-abiding firm, he had reassured her. He knew that she would worry about him getting caught up in illegal bribes again and being thrown in prison this time.

In the meantime, his twelve-year-old unfinished novel sat parked as a file on his laptop computer. At least he'd gotten his old writing copied off his floppies, but it broke her heart that he was so tied up with this crap, lobbying for people who only cared about money, that he couldn't spend more than a couple of hours a week on what he _really_ wanted to do. She blamed herself. He must have gone back to that world because he needed a steady income to support _her, _because a million bucks wasn't what it used to be (especially in Fairfax County), because he felt obligated to be the provider. There were times, when she tentatively brought up the subject to him, when he said that the real reason he didn't work much on it was because deep down he didn't think he could actually publish it, and even if he did, that it wouldn't sell. She didn't believe that. It _had _to be her.

* * *

She smoothed out her black cocktail dress and fumbled with the diamond pendant around her neck, bringing the tiny clasp to the back of her neck where it belonged. When at last she had it fixed, she glanced over to the corner where he stood, suited up in black, smiling admiringly at her. He held out his arm, she took it, and together they walked into the hotel ballroom where so many other "important" DC figures were seated at the tables for dinner. They had seats at one of them. Little cards with their own names.

He didn't _need _a date for these events, but when she insisted that she wanted to go, he couldn't very well tell her to stay home. Of course, he didn't know why she was _really_ there.

She had been legitimately happy when he offered her the diamond solitaire that now sparkled on her left hand and the promise that went with it. At that one shining moment, she had been confident that this would be it—this would be the change that did away with all her fears about being abandoned. This would free her to stop looking at physical affection and sex as a currency that paid for her room and board. This would be what annihilated her secret, shameful, misery-inducing distrust of him—a distrust that she knew in her most self-aware moments that she had cultivated herself by viewing this relationship the way she did, but that was nonetheless there.

It hadn't. If anything, it had only made it worse, by ramping up the potential for heartbreak if he ever found out her secret thoughts. Of course he would feel betrayed if he knew what she had really been thinking all summer. Who wouldn't?

And besides, once he popped the question, it wasn't as if she could actually refuse. Not if she wanted to keep him. Which she did.

He didn't _need_ a date for these events. It wasn't required. But several of his colleagues had dates... sort of. _Hired_ dates. And she would be damned if she let him get out of her sight at any event where that was happening.

She clutched his arm tighter as she passed by two such pairs. "Escorts," indeed, she thought disdainfully—but immediately, the feeling of screaming hypocrisy flooded her. First cast out the beam from thine own eye...

* * *

He got into bed, carefully climbing over her, mindful of her burgeoning belly. She breathed heavily as he flopped down on the pillow. He rolled on his side to face her.

_Who am I?_ she thought miserably. _What is wrong with me?_ She tried to understand, to make sense out of the past eight months, but she didn't even know where to begin untangling the threads. She curled up into herself, unable to meet his eye.

Out of the darkness, he finally spoke. "Rapunzel, this is breaking my heart."

She froze. A shiver rippled down her back. This was it; she was about to watch her fear come true, just as she had dreaded.

"I don't know what to do anymore," he said in a husky voice. "I thought... that things would change after we got married... and I don't understand. I've done everything I know... but it still hasn't convinced you. What more will it take?" She couldn't look up, but she heard the pain that radiated from his words.

He knew. He probably knew all along. How long had he been suffering under that knowledge?

"Please," he gasped, running a shaking hand down her back. "For her, if nothing else. We have to fix it before she's born. I don't want our child to grow up with a messed up home life just like... " He trailed off, the rest of the statement unspoken but nonetheless obvious.

She still couldn't move, not even to curl against him.

"_Please,_ talk to me, damn it!" he cried, shaking her shoulders. "I want to fix it, but you have to talk to me."

She finally gazed up at him. He had not been exaggerating about heartbreak. His eyes were moist and red, and his face was twisted with pain. She wanted to tell him, but she didn't even know where to start.

"Rapunzel, I love you so much," he began.

"I love you too," she said quickly.

He looked pained. "I know you do... but it's not enough. You don't trust me, and you never have. That hurts, Rapunzel. Please tell me why, so we can make it right."

She couldn't pull away from his gaze, those pleading, desperate eyes. She knew he was telling the truth. He had never seen their relationship as a transaction. That was just her twisted interpretation, because she was too afraid to give him her trust, and deep down she knew it all along.

He knew what she had been doing. He understood her better than she understood herself. Of course he did. He knew _all about _quid pro quo transactions.

She couldn't stand it any longer. Bursting into tears, she threw herself at him, burying her face against his shoulder. "Flynn," she whispered. She shook as he enveloped her in his arms. "I'm _so sorry,"_ she sobbed into his neck.

The fragile wall he had watched her build up inside herself had finally crashed down in ruins. He knew that had to hurt, and the vulnerability she was feeling had to be frightening, but he also knew that these things needed to happen, and _he _had to prove to her that he would not take advantage of this vulnerability. So he held her until her tears finally subsided, asking her no more questions that night.


	20. Future - Growing Up Fast

**Future: Growing Up Fast**

* * *

**Prompt by the-great-escapist**: "Years later and Katherine is about to go on her first date and while Rapunzel is ecstatic, Flynn isn't too impressed. (I did always imagine him as the protective-father type)"

**Scene Notes:** This was surprisingly challenging, but I'm mostly happy with it. I may as well 'fess up that I don't have too many personal memories of "domestic tranquility" (my parents' marriage was very troubled), so this may seem more like sitcom than reality. The conflict and Flynn's attitude may also be off-putting, though I tried not to make it ugly or overbearing. I hope I've struck the right tone and the piece is enjoyable. :) This chapter is NOT AU-of-AU. K+

* * *

"Mom?" a hesitant, uncertain voice called down the stairs.

At once, Rapunzel sprang up from her desk and headed for the staircase. She peered up the dim, unlit corridor at the fifteen-year-old girl who loitered bashfully at the top. She could hardly see her daughter in this light.

"Katherine, why are you hiding?" she asked concernedly as she began to walk up the stairs.

There was a hesitation. Then Katherine answered, "Are _they_ around?"

_Oh._ Rapunzel knew at once whom she meant. "Your brothers are outside with your dad," she said, trying to keep out the tinge of irritation at the male side of the family, but not quite succeeding. Nine-year-old Eugene and seven-year-old William had been giving their older sister no end of grief about tonight, constantly teasing her, and—to Rapunzel's extreme annoyance—their father had not been very firm in rebuking them. "Don't tease your sister" was all that he would say.

She had finally told them all to go outside and play sports or something—to take advantage of the nice big yard. Gone were the days of the single-bedroom top-floor condominium in the city of Fairfax. They now owned a house outside the suburbs, since the family needed the space. The kids' great-grandparents—now in their mid to upper eighties—had moved back east to live near their family, the only family they had. They frequently visited and spent the night, but even then the house was sufficient for everyone's needs.

Rapunzel reached the top of the stairs at last and turned on the light. Katherine gazed up at her. Kate's eyes, nearly an exact duplicate of her mother's in color and shape, met their counterpart. There were some superficial differences, however—most notably, the fact that Katherine had applied eye makeup, whereas Rapunzel did not. Even twenty years after leaving her birth home, Rapunzel still did not like wearing makeup because of the bad memories it brought back. She used the bare minimum, and then only to protect her face. However, she could still pick out a well-done makeup job.

"You look very nice," Rapunzel said, smiling at her daughter.

As if on cue, Katherine turned around to let her mother see the way she had parted her hair. Thick, wavy, chest-length, and dark, nearly the exact shade of her father's hair, it was hair to covet—and, from what Rapunzel understood, some of Kate's classmates at school did exactly that. Rapunzel hadn't wanted to say too much, because her own mother had constantly remarked on how "pretty" Rapunzel was as long as she was dressed and made up _her _way, but she had been aware for several years now that her daughter was turning into quite a beauty.

Still, if Katherine was indeed as bashful and uncertain as she seemed to be, Rapunzel decided that she needed to try to bury her own discomfort about complimenting her daughter's appearance. _She made herself up and did her own hair, _Rapunzel scolded herself mentally. _This isn't about you. Complimenting her for her efforts is different from what Mother did, bragging on her own work while backhandedly slighting you._

"Really?" Katherine asked, seemingly confirming Rapunzel's belief that she was uncertain.

Rapunzel smiled. "Really. Your makeup and your hair look wonderful." She reached out with open arms and enveloped her daughter in them, giving her a tight hug.

Katherine hesitated for a brief fraction of a second before returning her mother's embrace. She was a small person, even smaller than her mother (though only by a couple of inches now), and _that _was what Rapunzel suspected was a major factor in Flynn's ambivalence towards the idea of her going on a date. He always had been protective of Rapunzel herself, and still was. It seemed to be a part of his nature to want to protect those smaller and, in his mind, more vulnerable than he was.

They broke apart, and Rapunzel gave Katherine a gentle smile as they began to head downstairs. Her date, a boy from her class who was sixteen and had his driver's license, would be here in a few minutes.

Unfortunately, just as they reached the bottom of the stairs, the front door opened. The "guys" barreled inside in a flurry of noise and activity, bringing the scents of human sweat and the outdoors into the house. Eugene and William started to bound loudly upstairs when they noticed their sister. That stopped them cold. Exchanging sly grins uncannily similar to their father's familiar smirk, they turned around and sauntered back down to the front living room.

"Is your _boyfriend _here yet, Kate?" William taunted.

Katherine's eyes narrowed. "He's not my boyfriend!" she snapped. Turning to her mother, she implored, "Mom, don't let them sit down here. They're filthy! Just look at them!"

Rapunzel had already noticed the fact that her sons were covered in dust. Even as Katherine spoke, she caught sight of a leaf fragment in Eugene's hair. "Boys, your sister is right. Go upstairs, get into the bath, and put on something clean."

"We _all _have to dress up just because Kate's _boyfriend _is coming by?" Eugene said around a smirk.

"That's enough. I've told both of you to stop that," Rapunzel said. "I'm sure your sister won't forget this when _you _two want to go on dates in a few years." She smirked back at them.

"I will _never _want to go on a date!" Eugene declared.

Rapunzel laughed. "Oh yes you will."

"And Mom is right," Katherine said wickedly. "I _will _remember when your turn comes."

"It won't!" Eugene exclaimed again.

"Mine either!" echoed William.

Finally Flynn, who had stood silently in the foyer as this took place, spoke. "Didn't the two of you hear your mother?" he said. "You _are _dirty. Now go upstairs, wash yourselves off, and put on clean clothes. We're going to have dinner anyway once Kate heads out. You know you're supposed to get cleaned up before meals."

The boys grinned again and bounded up the stairs as they had started to do before their attention was distracted. When they were gone, Katherine heaved a sigh of relief. Rapunzel placed a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. She gazed up at Flynn and immediately noticed that he was trying to slink out of the room unnoticed.

"Where are you going?" she said, an eyebrow raised.

He stopped and turned around. "Putting on something clean myself." He went to the master bedroom, and in a few minutes, came out dressed in—of all things—a suit and tie. He was running a comb through his hair when he reappeared in the living room and sat down. He stared toward the front door, not acknowledging his wife or daughter.

Rapunzel glared pointedly at him. He blinked, glanced at his daughter, and managed a smile. "Well, you look very nice," he said to her. He fell silent again.

Rapunzel sighed to herself. She would definitely have a _word_ with her husband once Katherine was out.

Just then, the doorbell rang. All three of them sprang up to answer it, but Flynn got to the door first. He opened it like a shot.

Before them was a clean-shaven, well-groomed, dark-haired, moderately handsome young teen. About three inches shorter than Flynn, he was dressed conservatively and gave the overall appearance of shyness and deference, but what Flynn immediately noticed was that his hair was cut in a Mohawk. A faint scowl appeared on his face.

Rapunzel could not help but notice how nervous the young man was as she and Katherine approached. She suddenly realized _exactly _why Flynn had put on a suit. It was to intimidate the boy. She could not believe him. Even though this was a wealthy county and their millionaire status therefore wasn't particularly distinctive, he was still well-known as a bestselling author, and that would be intimidating enough.

"You're Jake, right?" she said, welcoming the young man into the house with a gentle smile on her face.

He seemed relieved. "Yes. It's an honor to meet you—both of you," he added, glancing nervously at Flynn.

"Same here," she said. She pushed her nervous daughter forward. "Now, don't let us keep you waiting. You've got dinner to eat and a movie to see." Turning to Kate, Rapunzel smiled encouragingly at her. "Remember, ten o'clock. And if anything goes wrong, you—"

"I have my phone," Katherine said, seemingly regaining some confidence at the reminder.

"That's good, then."

Flynn finally spoke, though it sounded as if he was making an extreme effort to do so. "Enjoy your evening," he choked out.

As the young couple left the house and headed toward Jake's car (technically his parents' car), Rapunzel turned to her husband with a glare. "What is your _problem?"_ she exclaimed.

He glared back at her. "He's a little punk," he snarled.

Rapunzel heaved a sigh. "He is not a _punk!_ He was very polite. And I think you scared him half to death, opening the door like a popgun and towering over him like that in a suit."

"All I have to say is, he'd better keep his hands off her," Flynn muttered in response.

"Oh, like you kept yours off me?" Rapunzel said sarcastically.

That was a mistake. "You want her to do the sort of things we did?" he exclaimed in disbelief. "Do I really need to remind you—"

"No—of course I don't! But we were in our twenties, Flynn, and we were both out of college. She knows how to behave appropriately. And Jake is a good kid. He's on the honor roll and the student council."

"He'd better be a good kid," Flynn muttered.

"He is. And the way you intimidated him, I think he'd be afraid to cross you even if he _weren't."_

Flynn smirked. "That was the general idea."

Rapunzel shook her head in exasperation, but a smile was forming on her face as she sat down next to her husband. She leaned against him and let her hand trail down his thigh, toward his knee. "I guess it's just a 'dad' thing," she said. "Not that I ever saw it personally... but in movies and books..."

He nodded. "Yeah... it is a 'dad' thing, but I think it's an extension of a 'protective of the people I love' thing."

Rapunzel smiled. "Well, you were always very protective of me too."

"'_Were'?"_ he said with a raised eyebrow.

She chuckled. "Okay, okay. Point taken."

He smirked and leaned in, giving her a kiss.

* * *

**End Notes:** That concludes the prewritten bonus scenes. I currently have the following prompts yet to write:

From Wolfram-and-Hart-Sauron: Rapunzel encounters Facilier and remembers him, but he doesn't recognize her. This one will occur in a tropical vacation setting.

From nikkibecket1997: A sequel to "Highly Reactive."

From a guest reviewer: "Flynn shows up and sees Rapunzel doing her stretches, but decides not to make himself known and just watch her be all hot and flexible. But Rapunzel knows he's there starts working out in an overly sexy way to rile him up for some bedroom fun."

The first prompt is currently a work-in-progress and should be the next item posted to this fic. The second prompt will be a separate short (4-5 chapter) fic—specifically, extra chapters for my Marvel movieverse crossover "Highly Reactive." The third, I'm doing research for, because I'm not sure about how those stretches would go, but all will be written.

In addition, I'm going to have a chapter 3 for "Safe Place," and it is going to be _kinky._ (My best friend "Bain Sidhe" and I use the code name "50 Shades of K" for this yet-to-be-written chapter!) But in the meantime, new prompts are still welcome!


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